#the relief on his face after the kiss seems more like a release after long term suppression right?

[nnnn99999]

Everyone has their own reason for being stuck in the rooftop. Mine is the way Pat smiles after their kiss while Pran bursts into tears. The dichotomy here is just oof. Their reactions speak volumes about the completely different headspaces they are in at that moment. Ugh so good. Also the music truly elevates the whole thing. So so good.

[moonstruckme]

request for Remus x reader, or poly!marauders x reader - A reader who seems more dominant in everyday life (managing group projects, generally independent, being a leader, etc.) maybe she's an older sibling or has parents that aren't all that responsible so she's had to take on that role.

But she settles into a more submissive energy with her partner(s) because she feels safe to do so, and lets them take charge. sorry if that's too specific! I hope it makes sense

no stress if this isn't your jam <3

Soft dom Rem you will always be famous <3 Thanks for requesting lovely!

modern au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 651 words

“No, yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” You flash your boyfriend a terse smile as you come in the door, phone held between your face and your shoulder. Remus steps forward to take your bag from you, and you mouth a thanks as you set down your keys. “That sounds like it would work fairly easily with my current plan, I wouldn’t mind incorporating that. No—of course—no worries, I appreciate your help.”

Remus starts to ease you out of your jacket, and it’s a struggle to keep from sighing at the casual care in his touch as you continue talking to the person on the other line. “Okay, are you free to meet on Thursday to finalize things?” You listen. Nod. “Perfect. I’ll get in contact with the others and figure out a time that works.” 

Remus hangs your jacket over a chair and goes to sit on the couch, motioning for you to follow. You make a gesture for one second and take your planner from your bag, grabbing a pen and taking the cap off with your teeth. “So you definitely can’t do after four? No, that’s cool, I’m just making sure.” You scribble down a couple of time ranges. “I’ll get back to you with what the others say. Okay, thanks! Talk soon.” 

You end the call with a sigh, leaving your planner faceup on the table so you’ll remember to call the others later. Remus waits until you’re looking at him before patting his thigh. 

Something unravels in you as you walk over to him obediently, settling yourself in his lap. 

“Hi,” you say, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck and laying your head on his shoulder. 

“Hi.” A bit of bemusement makes its way into Remus’ tone at your obvious relief. He rests a hand on the small of your back. “Long day, sweetheart?” 

You hum. “Not bad. I just have this headache that won’t go away, so that made it feel longer.” 

Remus tuts, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your head protectively. “Why’s that, hm?” 

“Dunno,” you exhale, snuggling into him. “It’s getting better already, though.” 

“Hm.” He sounds dissatisfied. A second later, he’s holding you securely to his back, tipping you both forward as he reaches for the coffee table. You hear ice clinking. “Drink this.” 

Reluctantly, you take your face from his shoulder to accept the water bottle. It’s his, nearly full and ice cold. Remus strokes your hair as you sip from it, eyes soft with approval. 

“That’s enough managing people for today,” he says, not unkindly. “You’ve already done most of the work, you can send a text and let them coordinate their own meeting time.” 

You frown, taking your lips from the water bottle. “I would, but they’ll never actually respond if it’s in a group chat. Nobody replies if I don’t message them individually.” 

“They’ll have to figure it out.” He shrugs insouciantly. 

You feel your eyebrows pinch, another argument rising to your tongue, but it evaporates when Remus wraps a long-fingered hand around your jaw. 

He tilts your chin up towards him. “They shouldn’t need you to take care of everything in order for it to get done,” he says sternly. “If they start calling you again tonight, I want you to send them to voicemail. Understand?” 

“Yes,” you reply automatically, and Remus releases your chin as you sigh, letting you ignore the water bottle for a minute so you can fold yourself back into him. 

“Good.” He turns his head into yours, kissing your temple. “You were never going to get rid of this headache if you let them keep pestering you all night, dove. They’re like flies.” You laugh a little, and Remus scratches at your scalp rewardingly. “You can text them in a little bit. Let’s just stay here for a minute, yeah? Try to get you relaxed.”

[myosotisa]

‖ tags: smut, monsterfucking, size kink, unprotected p in v or p in a (p in hole, if you will), praise kink, knotting, creampie, multiple orgasms, gender neutral reader referred to as 'baby' and 'honey', overstim if you squint

‖ word count: 880

“Honey, I'm – fffuck, I'm gonna –”

You grip his biceps tighter, cross your ankles, dig your heels into his lower back to keep him as close as possible. Shaking like a leaf, panting like an animal from your 2nd orgasm on his thick cock, you don't hesitate to beg. “Please, I want it. Want your cum, w-want your knot, please!”

He moans; a two toned sound of his voice pitching up in pleasure and the rumble of the growl on his chest. You can tell the moment he gives in to the release by the way his head starts to nod in agreement and the grip of his fingers presses in.

“Gonna give you what you want, baby, always gonna give you what you want,” he murmurs, almost mindlessly as the snapping of his hips into yours stutters and loses form. A few more moans and whines fall from his throat as his eyes squeeze shut – his cock kicking up inside you once, twice, and then you feel it.

The moment his nails dig into your skin, he swaps from thrusting in and out of your wet heat to a dirty roll of his hips against yours. The heavy knot at the base of his cock prods and presses against your entrance, the angle of his hips shifting and searching to try and get it inside you as his long groan turns to a whine.

Sometimes he's not able to knot you successfully, your body just not made to take the intrusion – but you want it so, so bad. Want him to plug you up with his cock and cum more than anything.

Maybe it's your determination, or maybe it's dumb luck, but his knot notches at a point that seems to make his animal instincts hone in. He rolls his hips into yours at the same angle again and again and again before it smoothly slips inside you.

You let out a hiss of pleasured pain at the sudden stretch at the same time of his sigh of relief, his expression switching from focused to blissed out as the last spurts of his warm come stay successfully locked inside.

After a single moment to recover, he's lowering himself on his forearms, draping his body over yours. “Did so good for me, honey, so perfect.” He breathes out hot air across the sweat rapidly starting to cool on your skin, making goosebumps appear that he presses open mouth kisses to.

“Thank you,” you sigh, happily dazed and comforted with the feeling of his skin against yours while you wind your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. He shudders when you scratch your nails against the sensitive skin there, a shaky sigh leaving his own throat as he tilts down to nudge his nose against your throat.

“Careful,” he says with a breathless laugh, “keep doing shit like that and the knot will never go down.”

And maybe you're still cockdrunk, still lost in your desire when you purposely do it again, timing his shudder with a clench of your inner muscles around him. He makes a sound between a gasp and a whine, instinctively rolling his hips and shifting the knot swollen inside you.

“H–honey…” He warns pitifully, shifting his head back up to look you in the eye. When he sees the glazed over, smirking expression on your face, you feel his cock kick up again in interest.

“Maybe I don't want it to go down,” your voice is pitched low as you roll your hips up into his again, making both of you gasp as his cock shifts slightly and hits a different spot. “Maybe I want you to fuck me on your knot until you come again, over and over–” Your own filthy imagination makes you clench around him again with a gasp, your nails digging in to the nape of his neck.

He leans back, dragging you with him as he tucks his hairy thighs under yours and sits back on his heels with you still locked tightly in his lap. His hips mindlessly roll, his eyes locked on where you're connected as he watches the knot keep him from leaving your warm, wet hole while he rocks into you over and over.

You whimper, hands gripping his forearms now as you watch him watching you, your mouth hung open to take in air. You're so, so full – like you can feel it in your lungs.

His glance moves up to your face, his cock throbbing once more at the pleasure and want he sees there. “You’re,” he pauses to let out a shaky laugh, in disbelief and adoration. “Baby, you're insatiable.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, triggering him to pull your hips back against his harder, both of you moaning around the small shifts of his knot inside you. “Wanna stay here forever…”

“Fffuck,” he stutters, head tipping back as his face contorts into something that looks like agony. “It's really– We’re really going to be stuck here if you keep talking like that.”

He still doesn't seem to grasp how serious you are, how much you crave him. You purposely tighten around him, a pretty moan tumbling out of his swollen, pink lips before his wide eyes snap to you.

“Good.”

-

-

-

[qtboni]

hai bonni <33 this is my first reqs 4u and im sry in advance if it's kinda of cringe 😭 (i came here from yr simon fic btw nd i luv ur writinggg) wht do u think abt simon being tired as hell coming back home from his mission and literally melts into reader's arms?

HELLO DEAR ANON ! thanks for requesting and no, it's not cringe dw i LOVE it. also ty for loving my writing that literally made my day sm >< enjoy this!

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon melting into your arms after a rough day at work <//3

C/W: Entirely fluff + kisses

Simon had a long day at work and was feeling tired and stressed. He started his car and drove home, feeling the tension in his shoulders and back. As he pulled into his driveway, he saw you standing on the porch, waiting for him.

You smiled and walked towards him, your arms outstretched. Simon stumbled out of his car and into your arms, letting out a deep sigh of relief. He felt the tension in his body melt away as you held him close, your warmth and comfort surrounding him.

"Welcome home, Simon," you whispered, resting your head on his chest.

"Thanks." Simon replied, wrapping his arms around you and taking a deep breath.

The warmth of your body against his, your breathing against his ear, all of it was like a balm for his soul. He let go of the tension in his muscles and let himself melt into you. Your warmth and love surrounded him, making him feel safe and protected.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling you hug him tightly.

"I missed you," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "Missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Si'," you replied, your voice full of love.

For a moment, nothing else mattered but your embrace and the love that you shared. The weight of the world seemed to fade away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment. And in that moment, he knew that everything was going to be alright.

"Hey," you said, leading him towards the house. "Let's go inside, okay?"

You helped him inside, guiding him to the couch, where you could hear him release another deep sigh.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" you asked, sitting beside him. "Food? Um, what about some tea? I think that will help you loosen u-"

Simon reached for your hand and gently squeezed it. "Just you being here is enough, love." he replied.

"I'm always here for you, Simon," you said, giving his hand a squeeze back.

You leaned into his embrace, pressing a soft kiss against his stubble-roughened cheek. The gesture was gentle, yet full of meaning. Simon felt a warmth spreading from his cheek to the rest of his body, your love surrounding him like a blanket.

He closed his eyes and savored the moment, letting himself be fully present in your embrace. He could hear your heartbeat against his chest, and the sensation was soothing and calming.

You reached out and pulled his balaclava up, revealing his mouth. A quick peck and his face lit up with a smile, his eyes sparkling with joy.

You watched as he became more and more beaming, his mouth turning into a grin as you removed the balaclava. "There he is," you said softly, your voice filled with affection. You giggled, teasing him as you added, "My little baby soldier."

Simon's eyes were fixed on you, filled with a sense of pure adoration and love. He was grateful to have someone who accepted him for who he was, especially coming home from a long and difficult mission.

"Baby soldier?" He asked.

"Yeah, well, aren't you one, my love?"

"I am so not a baby soldier."

"Oh, damn you're right." You replied with faux surprise. You leaned into him, cupping his cheeks and squeezing them together.

Then you added, whispering as you do so, "You're my little baby lieutenant, aren't you, Si'?"

You feel Simon inhale and see him averting his gaze. You giggled at him and kissed both of his cheeks.

Simon cannot bring himself to retort any longer as he completely melts into your kisses and embrace. If you said he's a little baby lieutenant, then for god's sake, he is.

It was a moment of pure serenity, of pure love. And Simon knew that he would always cherish it, a beacon of solace in the midst of the chaos of the world.

And then, as if driven by an instinctive need to express the depth of his emotions, he pulled you closer, holding you in his arms, his touch firm and passionate.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. But there was no question about the sincerity of his words, the longing in his eyes as he looked at you. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I love you too," you replied, your own voice just as genuine. And with those words, Simon knew that everything was going to be alright.

[chosok-amo]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ , BEING PREGNANT IS SUCK — SATOSUGU

you're almost eight months pregnant and your mood is always unstable, you become more sensitive than usual and easily cry even for the smallest things and your husbands are always there for you.

fluff! satosugu x reader, sensitive reader, mood swings, possessiveness behavior, cravings.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

YOU CRY 'CAUSE YOU CAN'T WEAR YOUR SHOES

“baby, are you ready? we're gonna leave in ten minutes,” satoru walked into his shared bedroom with you and suguru. he saw you sitting at your vanity while you applied your make up. you turn your face away from the mirror in front of you to look at your husband as he walks closer to you. he kneels down beside you as you go back to what you're doing.

“yes honey, just a little bit more,” you tell him.

he put one of his hands to the table in front of him and put his palm under his ear. he turned his face to you— watching you closely. “you look so beautiful,” he mused, and smiled sweetly at you. he slips your hair behind your ear and gently plays with it with his long finger. you returned the smile and threw him a glance. “you look handsome too, husband,” you teased him which made his smile grow bigger.

he giggles and kisses your neck— sloppy as he sucks and licks your neck in tiny before pulling away. “you're gonna leave a mark there, toru,” you protest as you look at your neck in the mirror. you can see a little faintly red spot in your neck. “yeah?” he asked you unbothered. he pushed himself to stand up and kiss your head before he told you to come outside quickly. after a few minutes you walk out of your bedroom.

suguru who's in the kitchen preparing a meal for the three of you looking up and he stops for a while. a smile painted on his face and he walked closer to you. his muscular hands round themselves on your waist as he gave your lips a quick kiss. “you look so beautiful, my love,” he muttered to your lips before kissing you again with a smile on his face. “I'll be done in a minute, why don't you wear your shoes in the meantime, love?” he kisses your cheek with his thumb gently as you nod your head.

you leave the kitchen and walk to the foyer where your shoes are at. a heavy sight leaves your mouth. lately you feel tired easily and you can't walk for too long. almost eight months pregnant you feel your body getting heavier each step you take. you rest your right hand to the wall to support your body as you're about to wear your shoes. but your shoes seemed like they had their own head and they refuse to be worn by you. and you can't even bend down because of your pregnant stomach, so you just cry.

feeling so overwhelmed and frustrated with your situation. you just feel tired. crying, you stomp on your shoes to release your anger. “stupid shoes! I hate you,” you cried and kept stomping on it. “why won't you let me wear you?! stupid shoes!” you kicked your shoes until it hit the door. suguru who just came to the foyer and saw you having a mental breakdown run to you quickly. “baby, what happened? why are you crying? are you hurt?” he asked you a bunch of questions worrying.

he cups your face and looks at you with his narrowed purple eyes. “stupid shoes,” you tell him and break down even more. suguru was stunned for a while and a sight of relief he let out, along with amused chuckles. “oh my love..” he wipes your tears and kisses your forehead. he hugs you and makes a circle on your back gently. at the same time satoru came and the look on his face was the same as suguru— his blue eyes narrowed.

“what happened? why are you crying? Is everything okay? love?” he asked you but his eyes focused on suguru— demanding an answer from the black-haired man. “It's nothing, she is just upset because she can't wear her shoes,” he said to him. satoru breathes a chuckle and he kisses your head. “please don't be upset, my love, we will help you. why don't you call us if you're struggling, hm?” he calms you down while he's stroking your head.

“It's just stupid shoes,” you tell him.

suguru gets on his knees to help you to put your shoes on. “exactly baby, it's just a stupid shoes,” suguru sang to you. he tied your shoes and got up. “done, are you feeling better now?” you nod your head which made the man smile. with that he takes your hand and holds them and the three of you leave the house to go picnic and spend the evening together.

CRAMPS

the evening sun casts a warm glow through the bedroom window as you lay on the bed, a slight smile playing on your lips as you scroll through an array of adorable baby clothes on your phone. nearly seven months pregnant, the anticipation of your little one’s arrival fills you with joy. suddenly, a sharp cramp shoots through your abdomen, causing you to gasp and drop your phone. tears begin to well up in your eyes from the pain and fear.

at that very moment, the bedroom door swings open, and satoru and suguru step in, chatting animatedly about something from their day. their faces instantly change when they see you, curled up and clearly in distress. gojo is the first to react, his bright blue eyes wide with concern. “hey, hey, what’s happening?” he asks urgently, rushing to your side. he kneels by the bed, his hand gently touching your arm. “are you okay?”

geto, normally the calmer of the two, moves quickly to sit on the bed beside you. he takes your hand in his, his touch gentle but firm. “talk to us, love. what’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soothing. you manage to speak through the pain and tears. “cramps... It hurts so much,” you answer as you squeeze suguru's hand harder.

satoru and suguru exchange a worried glance. “breathe baby, just breathe,” satoru says, his usual playful tone replaced with seriousness. he starts arranging the pillows behind your back to make you more comfortable. he kisses your forehead as he strokes your hair away from your face gently.

suguru’s hand moves to your belly, his touch is careful and reassuring. “we need to call the doctor,” he says, already reaching for his phone with his free hand. “we need to make sure everything’s alright.” satoru nods, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I’ll stay right here with you. Just focus on your breathing, okay? We’re here, we’ve got you.” the pain starts to ease slightly, their presence a balm to your distress. suguru is speaking quietly into the phone, explaining the situation to the doctor, while satoru’s soothing words and gentle touch help calm your racing heart.

“there, there, good girl, such a good girl,” he whispered when the look on your face started to change and you looked more relaxed. after a few moments, suguru hung up and looked at you with reassuring eyes. “the doctor said it’s likely just normal pregnancy cramps but wants us to come in if it doesn’t get better soon,” he explained.

“let’s monitor it for a bit, okay?”

you nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “thank you,” you whisper, grateful for their constant support and love. “no need baby, it's our job as your husbands to take care of you, it should be us who's the one feeling grateful because you carried our child,” satoru said after he sits on the bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “we’ll get through this together,” he says softly, his usual confident smile returning. suguru leans in and kisses your forehead. “always,” he adds, his voice full of love and promise.

with both of them by your side, the cramps seem less daunting, and the fear starts to fade away. You lean into their warmth, knowing that no matter what, you’re not alone in this journey. together, you are strong, and together, you will welcome your baby into the world.

CRAVING

the house is quiet, the evening light filtering softly through the windows as you wander into the bedroom. there, lying comfortably on the bed, is Suguru Geto, reading a book. his serene expression brightens when he sees you, but it quickly changes to one of concern when he notices the slight pout on your face. “what's wrong, love? do you need anything? where's satoru?” he asks, sitting up and putting his book aside.

he patted the spot in bed in front of him, signaling you to come closer. you sit in front of him with your head resting on his shoulder. “I'm craving donuts,” you say, your voice tinged with a hint of urgency. “could you get me some?” you look at him, still pouting.

suguru chuckles softly, his eyes warm with affection. “of course. any particular kind?” he slipped a strand of your hair as he asked. gently, you shook your head, “just plain glazed,” you replied, your craving intensifying. suguru nods and gets up, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before heading out the door. “I'll be back soon baby, call me if something happens, just stay in bed and don't do anything if satoru is not around, wait for me, yeah?” he promises. a nod was your answer.

you settle on the bed, trying to distract yourself, but the minutes feel like hours. finally, you hear the front door open and close, and suguru's footsteps approaching. he walks into the room, a box of donuts in hand and a proud smile on his face.

but as you look at the donuts, the craving that had been so intense moments ago has vanished, replaced by a sudden wave of tears. “what baby? you don't like it? did I order the wrong one? you want me to go there and order another one?” he asked, panicking while stroking your arms warmly. “I don't want donuts anymore,” you sob, feeling guilty, “now I want those cookies you always make and I feel bad.”

suguru's expression softened with understanding and a light chuckle left his mouth followed by a sigh of relief, “It's okay love,“ he said gently, kissing your forehead. “donuts can wait. let's get you those cookies.” he holds your hand as you follow him to the kitchen, still sniffling. as you sit by the counter, satoru appears, his keen eyes immediately taking in the situation. he wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a comforting kiss to your temple.

“what happened?” he asks softly, sensing your distress. “I wanted donuts, but now I want cookies,” you explain between sniffles, feeling embarrassed about the sudden change in cravings. satoru laughs softly, not at you, but at the situation. “pregnancy cravings are something else, huh?” he looked at the black-haired man for a moment as he smiled. suguru was already at the counter, gathering ingredients. “don't worry, love. I'll make those cookies from scratch, just like you how like them.”

as suguru begins to mix the dough, satoru grabs a bowl of fresh blueberries from the fridge. “here, have some blueberries while you wait," he says, feeding you a few with a tender smile and sits himself beside you.

you nibble on the blueberries, feeling the sweetness burst in your mouth, and your mood starts to lift. watching suguru work his magic in the kitchen is calming, his movements precise and practiced. satoru keeps you entertained with light conversation, his playful nature helping to ease your emotional rollercoaster.

“did you know,” satoru starts, grinning mischievously, “that blueberries are scientifically proven to make you happier?” you raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “really? and where did you read that?” looking at your husband who's already looking at you. satoru leans in conspiratorially. “somewhere on the internet. you know, where all the reliable information comes from.” suguru, measuring out flour, chuckles. “yeah, and that’s the same internet that says rubbing mayonnaise on your scalp will make your hair grow faster.”

satoru feigns offense. “hey, I tried that once! It was a very...interesting experience.” you can't help but giggle. “did it work?” you ask him, slightly pinching his cheeks. satoru winks. “well, let’s just say my hair has always been fabulous, with or without mayo.” suguru shakes his head, smiling. “hy am I not surprised? Only you would do something like that.” satoru smirks, feeding you another blueberry. “ey, I’m all about trying new things. speaking of which, any weird cravings lately, other than donuts and cookies?”

you think for a moment. “well, I did have a dream about eating pickles dipped in chocolate the other night.” suguru pauses, looking intrigued. “pickles and chocolate? that’s a new one.” satoru makes a face. “that sounds like a culinary disaster. But hey, if you want it, we’ll make it happen. anything for my baby,” his cheeky smile showing as he kisses your cheek.

suguru laughs as he starts mixing the dough. “e might need a taste tester for that one. Satoru, you up for it?” satoru holds up his hands in mock surrender. “oh no, you’re not getting me with that. I’ll stick to my blueberry science.” you laugh, feeling the earlier stress melting away. “you two are the best. Seriously, thank you.” giving your two husbands a loving look and smile.

satoru leans in to kiss your cheek. “anything for you, love. Even if it means eating pickle chocolate.” suguru winks as he shapes the cookie dough. “yeah, just let us know your cravings. we’re ready for anything.” as the kitchen fills with laughter and the delicious aroma of baking cookies, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the joyful, supportive atmosphere your husbands create.

before long, the smell of freshly baked cookies fills the air, and suguru carefully places a warm, gooey cookie on a plate for you. “here you go,” he says, his smile full of love and patience. you take a bite, the delicious taste melting away your worries. “thank you,” you whisper, tears of gratitude now replacing your earlier tears of frustration. suguru leans in and kisses your cheek. “anything for you, love.“

satoru gives you a gentle squeeze. “we're in this together. Whatever you need, we're here.” sitting between your two husbands, feeling their unwavering support and love, you know you can get through anything. the cookies taste even sweeter with them by your side, and the evening becomes one of comfort and warmth, a reminder of the beautiful family you are building together.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread

warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T) they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.

“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.

Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek. 

He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles. "I'm sorry, my love."

“You’re going to make me late.”

It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.

Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.

“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.

She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.

The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.

“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.

“Divine Flame.”

The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips. "Gods Blade."

A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat. Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.

The sky?

What happened to the roof?

The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.

“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.” Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.

“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.

“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”

Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.

“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.

The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.

As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.

Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.

Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.

“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”

The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.

“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,

“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.

Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.

“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.

“You used — “

“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”

How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.

Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.

“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.

“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “

“Kiyotaka,” you huff.

“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”

It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.

With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.

You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.

‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.

Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!

They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.

It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).

You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.

“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.

“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “

“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.

“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”

The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.

Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.

“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.

“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.

“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”

“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.

It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.

“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."

The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.

"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.

Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.

"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.

"My dearest husband was injured in battle."

Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.

Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”

“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.

“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.

"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"

“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.

“Mr. Gojo is married!?”

Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.

“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”

“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.

“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”

Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.

“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”

They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.

The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.

“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”

“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”

Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.

“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.

Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”

Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.

“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.

“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.

‘ Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.

“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”

Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.

To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.

“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.

“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.

Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.

“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.

For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.

It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.

“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames." Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.

“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.

Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in. "A good read?"

“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.” “What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.

As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now. “It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.

Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.

‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘ “It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink. "Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.

He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.

Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed. “Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!

To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.

“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”

Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.

Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.

Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.

After his death, nobody called you that anymore.

If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.

You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.

That was a dark summer.

“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.

This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.

An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.

What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.

He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.

A Grade 1 sorcerer.

It hardly required a duo.

‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.

A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.

“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”

You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.

(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.

But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.

He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.

“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.

You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.

“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.

He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.

He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.

“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.

As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.

“I apo — “

Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.

‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘

The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.

He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.

But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.

Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.

He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.

“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression. You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.

It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.

“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.

“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.

“Oi. Did something happen?”

You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”

“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.

“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.

“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.

“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”

His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.

But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.

' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '

The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.

“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.

“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.

Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.

“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”

The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.

The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.

Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.

“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.

It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.

Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.

Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?

Was it your father?

He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.

In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.

“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.

“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”

“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.

Too great some would say.

Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.

The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.

But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.

It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.

Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain? Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?

If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?

Why would they dare take more from you?

From Satoru?

Had they not have their fill?

Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.

“...You would tell me if it was, right?”

Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.

What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;

' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'

“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”

“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.

You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.

Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.

You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.

“I can do it by myself.”

He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;

“I can do it by myself!”

The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.

His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.

Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.

Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.

He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.

Why the fuck is he crying?

But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.

He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.

He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.

He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.

Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.

His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.

‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.

“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.

He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.

Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.

“Why do you call me that?”

Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.

“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.

“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.

His eyes are still so dark.

“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.

He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.

“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.

“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.

“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”

You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”

You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.

“What did you call Suguru?”

You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.

If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.

“I called him my one and only.”

He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean. You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.

“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.

“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”

“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.

Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."

He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.

“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”

“Beloved, you’re not.”

You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.

“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”

Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.

That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.

“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”

“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.

“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."

He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.

So why the fuck was he crying?

“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”

These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.

“Stop, Satoru.”

“I knew too.”

“Please, stop!”

“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.

“My beloved — "

“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”

Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?

In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.

“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.

“I’m so sorry.” "You keep saying that, Satoru!"

You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.

Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.

Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.

He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?

Why must he love this way? You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.

"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."

That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.

From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.

How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?

The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.

So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.

"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.

Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.

Just.

Just once.

' Come. '

His eyes are still so dark.

' Inhabit me. '

So are yours.

' Let me show you. '

They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.

' Bare your soul to me. '

His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.

' I have. Now fall with me. '

He kisses you.

It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.

' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '

You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.

Just once.

He needs to hold you like this just once.

To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.

Fuck it.

Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento ��

"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.

His godhood is forgotten.

The strongest kneels.

The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.

"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.

His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.

"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.

It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.

This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.

"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."

Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.

He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.

As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.

Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.

There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.

He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.

Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.

He's not entirely at fault. You let him.

It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.

Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?

What were you worshipping?

The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.

"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.

"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...

"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.

Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.

He likes kissing you.

Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.

That endless void; it reflects only you.

"(Y/N)".

It's your name that leaves his lips.

"(Y/N)."

He's pleading for you.

"My beloved."

You're dear to him.

Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.

When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.

His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.

It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.

"I'm right here, beloved."

"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.

"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.

"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.

"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.

"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.

"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."

When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.

"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.

"Satoru."

With his name on your lips.

"Please."

Begging for his mercy.

"Satoru."

You ____ him.

The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.

It was baleful.

The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.

"Satoru, you've come home."

His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.

If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.

"Yes, I have."

Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.

It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.

It'd be his mother.

"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."

"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science." "It wasn't because of young Itadori."

"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."

She sniffles prudently.

"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."

"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."

She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.

"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.

"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "

"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"

"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"

Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"

"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."

The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.

"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"

"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"

"How are you doing, my love?"

Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.

“Is she going easier on you?”

“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.”

The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.

“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.

“Losing someone?”

You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.

The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.

You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.

It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.

There is no honour in a child dying.

“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.

“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.

But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.

“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.

“I loved him, dad."

Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.

Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.

He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.

"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.

"I'm here, Megumi."

Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.

The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.

Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.

To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.

As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.

There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.

Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.

"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.

Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.

The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.

It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.

When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.

The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.

You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How could your father not feel the same for you?

"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.

"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"

"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.

There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.

"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"

You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.

"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!" The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.

This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."

Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?

He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.

She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.

He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.

What a foolish man.

"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."

He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.

Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.

The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.

It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.

He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.

The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.

"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice. "I asked you a question, boy!" The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.

"Here is my sacrifice!"

The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.

There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.

Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.

Had he always looked so weak?

His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.

"Savour every drop of it, father."

It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.

The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.

The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.

The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.

Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.

"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."

The title brings a smile to your face.

He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.

It serves him right. The bastard.

You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.

The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.

"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.

"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."

Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.

A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.

"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.

"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.

The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.

Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.

Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.

This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.

Suguru had that same look.

"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.

"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."

"They think you made us insane."

"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.

"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.

"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."

"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"

' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.

"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."

"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"

Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."

"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.

"Speak plainly."

"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.

"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."

Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.

"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"

The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.

Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.

The windchimes still.

The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.

"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."

"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."

She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.

"Do not do this to me, my beloved."

"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"

His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."

He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.

But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.

Suguru chuckles coyly.

"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."

"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.

"Fuck off."

"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.

"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."

The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.

"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.

The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.

"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.

"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.

Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.

There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.

"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”

The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.

“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”

Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.

He does.

He pouts as you walk out from the room.

Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.

“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.

“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”

“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.

Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.

“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “

Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.

“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.

Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.

“Mr (Y/N)!”

Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.

“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”

“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.

“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.

The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.

As you turn, it slips close.

Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.

“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.

Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.

His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.

Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.

People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.

How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?

You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.

Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.

“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”

There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.

After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.

“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.

Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”

“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.

“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.

Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.

Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.

Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.

“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.

“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.

The strongest.

Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.

“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”

“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.

“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.

“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.

Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.

Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.

The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.

None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.

So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.

The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.

“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.

“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.

Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.

“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.

“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”

“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”

What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.

“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”

You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.

The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.

He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.

“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”

Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.

“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."

You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.

"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.

"S'guru..."

"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"

Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.

"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"

When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.

How shameful.

You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.

Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.

"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.

"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.

Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.

As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.

"Ken, I - "

Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.

His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).

"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.

His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.

"(Y/N)..."

Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.

"(Y/N)".

"Kento."

Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.

There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.

"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."

"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.

"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."

He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.

"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"

Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.

How pervertedly kind.

The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.

"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."

The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.

A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.

"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."

A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.

"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"

Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?

"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.

"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."

"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."

"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."

He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.

"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.

The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).

But it was too convenient.

Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.

The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.

If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.

"I'm sure you do."

"The divorce barely made a dent?"

"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."

"And if he faces me?"

Satoru grits his teeth together.

"Run."

Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.

Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.

The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.

“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”

“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”

He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.

Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.

“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.

"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.

"Have you..."

The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.

"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.

The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.

"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.

"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.

"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.

"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."

Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.

He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.

"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."

"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."

She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.

"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.

"The rumours, of my clan."

Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.

Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.

"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."

Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.

"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."

"I messed up."

The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.

Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.

"Things are not looking good."

"Yo, Satoru."

The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.

"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."

' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.

You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.

He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.

"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone." "Sealed...?"

Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.

"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."

"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.

"NA-NA-MIN!"

His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.

"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."

"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.

"Let's be quick about it then."

This feeling...

"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"

"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."

"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.

"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.

"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."

"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.

"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."

You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.

"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.

Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.

But then.

"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.

"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.

Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.

' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.

"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.

Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.

Megumi —

You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.

Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —

Dagon is exorcised.

The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —

"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.

Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.

The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.

His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.

"Gojo (Y/N)."

"Divine Flame."

He lifts his hand just as you do.

"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.

"God's Bl — "

"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.

"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.

"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"

You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.

"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."

He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.

"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."

That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.

"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."

"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"

Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.

"Divine Flame — "

A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.

"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.

"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.

Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.

The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.

Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.

"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.

"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.

"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.

"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."

"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."

Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.

"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"

Reincarnation or divine coincidence.

Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.

"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."

Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.

He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.

With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.

"Na..."

The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...

Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.

"Nanamin..."

The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.

He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.

Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).

He should have introduced you to his family.

He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.

He should have given you everything you deserved.

Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.

He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).

What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?

Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness... "I'll leave the rest to you."

"My husband."

Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.

"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;

"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"

"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.

"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."

"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.

Or is that denial talking?

"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"

"Maybe he's already with Nanami."

"Shoko."

"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.

"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?

"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.

"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"

"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"

"I have every right to be."

"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.

"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.

"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."

"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.

"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"

"Yuji."

Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.

"You leave (Y/N) to me."

"Does this form please you more?"

Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.

Satoru's corpse.

It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.

"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.

"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."

The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.

"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."

Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.

Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —

They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.

Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.

The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.

This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.

Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —

Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.

What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.

What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?

Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.

Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.

Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.

"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"

[ressjeon]

relief | myg (m.)

pairing ⇢ yoongi x reader (hints of ot7)

genre/au ⇢ smut, fluff, idol!au, long time ??

summary ⇢ the nerves have been shaking Yoongi’s usual confidence while preparing for his first solo tour — what a relief that you’re here then.

wc & rating ⇢ 3k | 18+

warnings/content ⇢ dom/sub dynamics, grinding, protected sex, riding, emotional sex?, praise kink, groping, semi-clothed sex, size kink, breast play, temperature play, orgasm control, yoongi’s hands are everywhere help, aftercare, pillowtalk <3

a/n: it's been a year since yoong's tour kicked off so i wanna celebrate with this, along with my return here! never thought i'll do this cuz i don��t usually write nor read this au but he won again on the poll last year so here we are XD! this is mainly inspired by what i was feeling while watching the live stream of both his shows in the first city of his d-day tour! pretty divider by the amazing @cafekitsune <3

after the final song, you were just as surprised as the crowd around you. a faint chuckle leaves you at the way Yoongi ended his concert.

of course, you should've expected that he'll pull something like this. 

“i’m so proud of you yoongs” 

you greet him enthusiastically as soon as you spot him at the entrance of the hallways near his dressing room. he’s smiling so wide, reaching you at once with his airport-like walk like how he exited the stage quickly earlier.

you beam once he catches you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders despite how sweaty he is.

“it went well” he giggles lightly, caging you in his arms before grabbing your hand to bring you to the backstage area where you both can see the audience without being seen.

the gummy smile plastered on his face never wavered as he watches the fans dispersing outside and you have an inkling that it's reminding him of the world tours with the boys before.

“i told you it would” you whisper once he turns to you, leaning in to give him a peck but Yoongi’s hand reaches up to grab your neck, pulling you in to catch your lips once more and deepen the kiss.

a small whimper elicits from you, both from being needy and worry that any staff might see you both like this but Yoongi seems to not care. it must be the adrenaline and the whiskey combo he had during the concert cause his calloused hands start roaming your body. 

a total opposite during soundcheck where he’s simply cuddling you while waiting during the delay that he almost fell asleep.

though Yoongi's performed in front of millions of people for a decade now, he still feels anxious since he’s doing this on his own and it’s been a long time since he met his fans in person. he was naturally nervous about this but you’ve been doing your best to support him so he's really grateful that you’re here.

teasing him earlier when he put those yellow sunglasses on while you rake your hand through his luscious locks thankfully helped ease his nerves.

"yeah yeah i saw the cat edit"

“you’re so cute”

.

a firm grab of your ass reminds you of where the two of you are, nudging Yoongi slightly to release you. both breathless from the kiss, he’s looking at you in bewilderment until you gestured him to the waiting staff who’s here to take his post-concert pictures.

“pics first” 

he only answered with a pout after releasing you but he followed. you on the other hand couldn't look at the photographer as embarrassment floods you, immediately retreating to the dressing room to wait for Yoongi there.

grabbing another glass of Henny, you scroll through your phone for updates on what’s going on outside. you did sneak out earlier and lined up with fans to get some merch and talked to some of them because well, you are one of them.

loving the boys and their music is one thing you share in common.

.

after a while, the door opens, revealing a smiling Yoongi like he hadn’t been teasing you this whole time.

maybe that was part of his plan but you’ve been patiently waiting. it even came to the point where you can't wait to be all over him now that everything’s done for the night.

placing your empty glass of brandy on the small side table, you drop your phone on the couch before approaching Yoongi. he chuckles when you hastily drag him toward the couch before climbing on his lap.

he doesn’t mind really, knowing how needy you get after he performs like you were in the past. he might’ve unintentionally teased you like he does to everyone else but it's one of the things he loved about you. 

how easily you get turned on in every little thing he and the others do but especially for this. knowing his voice can make you crumble instantly gives him that satisfaction that he didn’t know he had when he first met you.

“you’re worked up this much __?” he teases, hands situating themselves on both sides of your waist. “is it the black or white one?” he adds nonchalantly, pertaining to his outfits prior to the one he’s wearing right now.

“shut up, you know what your voice does to me” you whine impatiently, clutching the silver bone necklace around his neck before leaning in to kiss him again.

ah, the chain, another one that you love seeing on him. he'll always be fascinated with your favourites no matter how long you've been with them.

you deepened the kiss this time and Yoongi welcomed them with fervour. it’s his turn to get lost in the moment now that you’re needier than him. his ending fit riled you up this much that now you’re grinding yourself desperately on him but hey, he’s not complaining. 

his hands smooth around your covered thighs after, lingering between the crease of your legs before he releases your lips.

“i’m surprised you’re wearing leggings, you hate it” 

“it’s cold”

“explains the sweatshirt too” he muses, one hand tugging the baggy sleeve of your white tour sweatshirt with both his aliases on your chest.

his heart warms seeing it on you, the way you’re proudly wearing him even though this whole thing between you and them still remains a secret. his hands creep underneath your top, caressing your sides that hasten your roll against his crotch.

you lean in to kiss Yoongi once more but he grabs your sides, stopping you.

“want it off though” he whispers, the mischief in his eyes shifts to a demanding one.

his darkening orbs are looking straight into yours, making you squirm against him. you didn’t waste any time at once, taking off both your sweatshirt and your bra in a frenzy, much to Yoongi’s satisfaction.

you’d know with that cocky look resurfacing on his pretty face.

now that you’re bare in front of him, Yoongi can see your crotch rubbing along the top of his denim zippers. he could watch you like this, let you get off on your own until you cum like he’s done many times but he relents.

lately, he’s been so busy with the tour preparation that he missed seeing you this needy. he reaches down to cup your pussy, not surprised to find you drenched knowing how easy it is for you to get wet. 

you squirm at his touch, trying to get more friction by rubbing your swollen clit on the buckle of his belt. he knows it's you silently wanting his fingers to help you get off but his hand abruptly leaves you.

frustration looms on your face, your lips turning into a frown but Yoongi grabs your body closer and instantly latches his mouth on your tits, earning a surprised shriek from you.

“yoongi!” 

you didn’t mean to be loud but with how Yoong’s been licking your pebbled nipples and occasionally nibbling them, you’re starting to forget that there are still people outside the door who can hear you both.

one hand of yours takes a handful of his messy jet-black hair, pushing his face more into your chest. he groans and continues to nip around one tit while his other hand plays around your neglected breast.

kneading and pinching nonstop, you’re unable to hold in the whiny moans coming out of you as your other hand grips his shoulder. you’re relishing it, the rough feeling of callous fingers against your now-swollen nipples. 

taking a glance down at Yoongi, you notice how wet he is. he's drenched in sweat but my fuck does he look even hotter when he does. his mouth releases your peppered breasts, opting to fondle your clothed pussy this time.

“don’t tell me you’ve been wet since the first song” he teases and you look away from his heated gaze. he got his answer when he felt your cunt twitch through your clothed core. rough pads of his fingers rub you faster, more of your slickness seeping through your leggings to his hands.

he was clad in all black earlier, one of your favourites so he wasn’t that surprised.

“yoongi..” you’re panting, almost begging him with the way you're gripping his hair and shoulders. you need him to do something, anything more than teasing at this point. 

it surprises you when Yoongi grabs the empty glass of Henny that you put aside on the table earlier, taking the ice to his mouth and he’s back to assaulting your breasts. he rolls the ice cube with his tongue around your nipples, making you shiver at the cold and wet sensation.

you’re whimpering, legs shaking as the band on your lower abdomen threatens to snap with how Yoongi’s cold and wet fingertips fondling your core. the multiple stimulations are pushing you nearer to your orgasm. you’re not sure if he’s aware or not, if this was his plan all along.

“..oh fuck” 

“hmm?” 

“yoongi..i don’t.. wanna cum in this” 

you cry, eyes mustering your neediest look towards him, hoping he’ll listen to your pleas. and Yoongi did, his hand leaving your drenched pussy and mouth releasing your breast. relief courses through you, smiling at him despite the uncomfy feeling of your leggings sticking to your core.

“of course, you don’t, always wanting to cream my cock” 

he doesn’t say it in a mocking manner, the hint of adoration coming forward within his hooded eyes. you get off of him once his hands release you, quickly shimmying down your leggings while he unbuckles his baggy pants and boxers.

you didn’t miss him whipping out a condom from his front pocket, making you suspicious with your arms now crossed over your chest. 

“and why-”

“you’re here and i did remember you love being fucked anywhere”

he answers right away and your face morphs in shame, arms sliding down to your elbows, revealing your breasts again to Yoongi.

you hate being paranoid like this though you know he’s always been prepared. and he’s right, you do love it when they fuck you anywhere they like whether it be on the venue, in their vans or in their hotel rooms. 

it’s one of your favourites when you join them on tours before.

“yoon–..” you try but he beckons you closer and helps you back onto his lap, kissing you right away and ignoring your protests because he knew right away what you were gonna say.

“none of that hmm? lemme get you ready”

he took himself out and put on the condom already before his hands skitter around your inner thighs.

“no” 

he quirks a brow at you, wanting to make sure if that's what you want. even though you’re stark naked figure’s been enticing him to just fuck it and ruin you like you’ve been begging for, he's been a pro at controlling himself to prepare you.

huffing before wrapping your hands around his neck, you squeeze his nape as an answer. 

you just want him inside you and you don’t wanna wait anymore.

a smirk graces Yoongi's face at your impatience before helping your body up to grind on him again.

now rubbing your bare pussy against his dick, you enjoy watching him seethe with each friction. your hips circle until his swollen tip catches your entrance, pausing just to tease him. one of his hands scrambles to grip your hip and you chuckle before lifting yourself, grabbing his dick and lowering slowly.

“fuck,fuck,fuck” 

you watch Yoongi close his eyes, a plethora of curses coming out from his mouth. you’re whimpering in return, pussy walls fluttering around him to try to accommodate his thick girth.

“big..fuck, yoongi” you cry, tears threatening to well in your eyes. 

you love the feeling though and he knows it but Yoongi still tries to comfort you, roaming his veiny hands around your body till he reaches your breasts.

you start moving your hips slowly, planting your hands against his clothed chest as you try to take more of him. his hands fly on both sides of your waist, feline eyes also watching you while you’re slowly adjusting to him.

“more..” he grunts, prompting you to go faster as he tightens his grip on your waist. you try to roll your hips faster then deeper until you bottomed down.

pausing for a bit, you couldn’t help but lean in and whine against his clothed shoulder with how his cock’s filling you deliciously. 

he has other plans though, releasing a deep groan after you unconsciously clenched around him. he starts fucking up to you, pouring all that adrenaline rush coursing through his bloodstream. 

a loud moan escapes you when he finds that soft spot, causing you to pull back and again note the cocky smirk emerging on his handsome face.

“yoongi..fuck” 

“shhhh”

he silences you with a finger on his puckered lips, hips bucking up to you faster while he repeatedly hits that spongy spot again.

you struggle but you wanna be good for him so you close your eyes and force yourself to keep your moans in. it results in you gasping instead, small whimpers still escaping you with how magnified everything feels. 

“you listen really well baby” amusement laces Yoongi’s tone, eliciting deep moans after when you clamp around him with the praise. his groans spur you to ride him faster but you’re starting to feel the burn on your legs.

he must’ve felt you slowing down cause you found him grinning once you reopened your eyes. gritting your teeth, you dig your nails into Yoongi’s clothed shoulders and call his name in a whimper, biting your lip to hold back your release but his praise makes you crumble.

"yeah? come on __" he gauges you, kissing you at once to swallow the moans that you couldn’t keep in once you reach your peak.

he slows down his pace, letting you ride your own high as his mouth peppers your jaw then later your neck with kisses. his hands continue to caress your naked body until they reach down on your ass.

you let out a surprised yelp when he squeezes them hard, causing you to grip his damp hair once he starts fucking up to you again. 

calling your name with a deep groan, you whimper by his ear in response as he chases his release. he’s relentless with his fucking, groping your ass nonstop until you feel him explode in the condom.

you do miss it when he fills you up but you both can’t risk anything while he’s still on tour.

“shit..” he chuckles after releasing you, pushing his hair back with a satisfied look on his face but it shortly disappears when he notices the small tears in your eyes.

“was i too rough?” he worries but you shake your head. 

“you know i love it” you reply with a quick peck to his now perplexed face. he doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. 

“i just got emotional..you know” 

a small smile of relief breaks into Yoongi’s face, stroking your naked back while you’re both coming down from your highs. 

“i’m glad you’re here” he whispers, kissing your forehead. you don’t fucking know why you're suddenly emotional but it could be because of oxytocin flowing through you right now.

“the seesaw acoustic made me cry” you sniff, nuzzling Yoongi's clothed chest that’s a bit damp now, mixed with sweat and your tears but neither of you mind it.

“why? the lyrics still?” 

he did remember you crying after hearing it for the first time years ago, the lyrics being the sole reason of it.

“it’s just.. i don’t know, it reminds me of when you guys were touring before” you admit, melancholy in your voice while you reminisce watching his solo performance during their last world tour as a group. 

“thank you” he pauses, looking away from you. “for staying with us after all these years”.  he takes your hand and plays with it as he says those words.

you adore this side of Yoongi and now you feel bad for doubting him earlier. meeting them years ago and staying this entire time meant a lot of hardships that you went through together with the rest of his members.

“i miss all of you together” you give Yoongi a quick peck on his heated cheeks before giggling, all the sadness gone at the sight of him blushing. he sits up right away and grabs your face to do the same on your lips before lifting your body off of him.

“you see each of them all the time more than i do, i’m jealous”

he gets up, pulling off the used rubber before picking up your clothes that he threw around earlier. he emerges in front of you after, wet wipes in his hand as he parts your sore legs.

“who knows, maybe me and Jimin will drop by” 

he stops, letting out a snort and you raise a brow at him, mind suddenly alert to the possibility.

“he’s coming right?” 

“idk babe” he’s got that teasing smile and you wanna cry. 

“yoonggiiiii..”

“is this why you came here?”

“no” 

you’re back to sulking because the boys won’t tell you anything either. it’s something they’ve all kept a secret cause even Jimin won’t budge earlier when you tried to get the answer from him during pillow talk. 

however, Yoongi surprises you amidst your sulking when his head’s suddenly between your legs, licking up a stripe of your swollen folds, causing you to whine at the sensitivity.

he knows you’re tired so he stops your hand from grabbing his damp hair.

 “later” he mutters, licking his glistened lips as he wipes your pussy. 

you didn’t reply, still lying down on the couch while trying to put your bra, panties and leggings back on. getting up would be impossible so you wanna stay on the couch for a bit to cool down.

“i wanna surprise everyone okay? and you’re always on stan twitter”

he gives up, grinning at you with that adorable gummy smile before grabbing another glass of whiskey on the table. 

then instead of wearing it back, you throw your merch shirt at him.

“YOU GET DEETS BECAUSE OF ME” you yell, earning a deep chuckle from Yoongi.

then he pulls out his phone and takes a picture of you, sending it to your group chat with a thumbs up caption. the others surprisingly replied immediately, with Jimin responding with a wink emoji.

oh they will pay for this.

e/n: it's been a long time lmao how are y'all? btw i wrote this during those two days and haven't opened it in almost a year now so 😂

[staysdelulus]

Stray Kids - Hyunjin [MDNI!!]

Kinktober Day 6!!

Summary: After Hyunjin calls for you from his art studio, what seemed like an innocent hug turns into something more explicit.

Warnings: fem!reader, pinv, no protection, dry humping, riding, clit stimulation (slight mention), cockwarming, and more!

Word Count: 642

“Y/n, baby. Come here.”

Your boyfriend’s voice rings out as he calls out to you from his art studio, his voice slightly tired. Making your way towards the room, you knock gently to tell him you’re there before entering. He’s sitting slumped on his chair, hunched over a portrait he was drawing, pencils long discarded as he sighs, unable to continue further as he looks up at you, eyes softening in relief.

“Hyunjinnie, is everything okay?” you ask softly.

He nods, opening his arms wordlessly. “Come sit on my lap. Please?”

You nod, quickly making your way to him. Before you can sit down, he gently tugs your hand, pulling you to face me. Getting the message, you gently straddle him, hugging him closely as he holds you by your waist. “Baby, please.”

He whispers softly against your ear, moving one hand up to your head, holding you and pulling your head to nuzzle in his shoulder. As you comply, his hands fall back down, holding your hips as he kisses your temple. You whine softly, hips grinding him slightly. You can feel himself arousing, his breath hitching.

“Hyunjin,” you whimper, feeling a shot of pleasure shoot through you. He hums softly, gently shifting you. You whine softly, gasping softly as he shifts you to grind against him, grinding through your shorts and his pants.

“Yes, baby? You need something?” he asks softly.

“Please, Jinnie… I need you,” you whisper.

Usually, he would continue to tease you, not letting you get what you want just yet. Today, was just your luck, though. He was just as needy as you, and so, he shifts you off his lap gently, chuckling when you whine with disappointment. Without another word, he strips himself and you, pushing the clothes to the side, the dim lights of his art studio seeming to fade away as the focus shifted to only the two of you.

“Come here, baby. Sit on me,” he murmurs quietly. You follow suit, sinking down on him with a gasp, trembling slightly at his length.

He gently shushes you, soft brushes against your skin as he lets you adjust. When you’re ready, nodding at him, he gently guides you, moving your hips up and down. Once you get used to the speed, his hands find your breasts, his lips latching onto one as the other is groped by his hand.

His other hand finds your inner thighs, you whimpering and squirming at the overwhelming sensation of just pleasure. “Jinnie- I can’t- please- no- Hyune- more-”

He groans against your breast, hips pushing up as you begin to lose stamina, his hips finding yours desperately as you cry out, head thrown back. As his fingers move to rub your sensitive clit, you lose it, head going in a frenzy.

Watching you fall apart, he loses it. Fuck. He could never get sick of you orgasming. The way you clenched around him needily, crying as he continued to fuck you senseless, the sight of your sobs and cries from overstimulation making him eventually come.

Gravity does its work, his release leaking out and spreading over your thighs and his, the messy sight of pure, sticky, pleasure catching his gaze. Chests heaving, he pulls you against him, the both of you sweaty as he gasps softly.

“Fuck, baby…”

“Jinnie,” you only manage to whimper, the mumble leaving your lips. “F-Felt good.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he reassures you gently, tapping your cheek tenderly as he kisses your temple. “Let’s just stay here for now, okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, head falling to his shoulder. “Please.”

With a satisfied hum, he holds you closely, cock still buried deeply in you as you enjoy the feeling of his length in you. Eyes drooping, you fall asleep, his hand nestling you gently before he, too, gives way to sleep.

[worldofkuro]

Painted Smile

Painted Smile XXXIII

<- Previous Chapter I Next Chapter ->

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: Oh my dear readers. I truly hope you will enjoy this chapters because I did. I had to cut this chapters in half because it would have been too long. Next chapters are going to be really intense I think, please do tell me your thoughts.

“ Alice, leave your father’s shadow alone!”

It’s been a few years since you gave birth to your little girl and it had been.. Interesting so far. 

After giving birth, you stayed inside the hospital for a week. It seemed like you had bleed too much so the doctors wanted to make sure you would be safe before going home. Your parents visited you as soon as you were stable.

“ Oh, my baby..!” your mother ran toward you and hugged you while your father shook Alastor’s hand with teary eyes. 

You smiled at your mother as you showed her your baby. Your dad immediately coed at her, carrying her in his arms as your mother kissed her forehead. Alastor stayed by your side, caressing your hand, making sure you were feeling fine. You smiled sweetly at him, you were exhausted but you were also feeling full of energy!

Marie came the next day with flowers and sweets for you. She hugged her son with a soft expression before kissing you on both cheeks. She couldn’t hold her tears when you showed her Alice. She kissed Alice’s forehead before taking her in her arms after you had her permission.

“ She looks just like you, Alastor!” She beamed as Alice opened her eyes to look at her grandma.” Oh, but her gaze is just like your wife!” She giggled before Alice began to cry, surely wanting to go back into your arms.

You took Alice in your arms as Marie gave you advice which you listened to carefully. She seemed so happy to be a grandma, you knew Alastor was feeling satisfied to have given such a smile on his mother’s face.

The fourth day, Alyzée came to visit you. You were breastfeeding Alice while Alastor was packing your things. You were feeling fine now, so you knew the doctor would release you soon. You lifted your head up when you saw Alyzée entering the room.

“ Hello and congratulations.” She smiled softly with a huge bouquet of flowers. Alastor took it before going to place it toward your luggages, rolling his eyes as Alyzée congratulated you once more.

‘ Can they be original with their congratulations ?’

Alastor…

When you told the name you chose for your baby, Alyzée almost burst into tears but you could see she was trying to be strong. You took her hand in yours with a soft smile. You knew her pain, you wouldn’t judge her for crying.

“ I… I came with someone.” She said with a shy smile. She turned her head toward the door and you beamed as you saw the butler that used to serve Alice, the one who saw you growing up.

“ Hello, dear. I’m happy you are doing well.”

You all talk a little, even if at some point Alastor walked out with the butler. You gave Alice to Alyzée who held her carefully in her arms. You were still missing your best friend, how you wished she could be here with her own baby. You both would talk about your feelings and your fears about being a mother…

Once everyone left your room, you smiled when you saw Baron Samedi and Papa Legba sitting next to you. Of course, you almost panicked when a nurse came to check on you but you sigh in relief when you remembered she couldn’t see them. You looked at Alastor when the nurse left your room.

“ Kalfu doesn’t want to come?”

“He doesn't care.” He shrugged before sitting next to you. You stared at him. Since Alice was born he never held her. Why? Was he scared? Did he not care about her? “ Yes, dear?”

“ Don’t you want to hold our daughter?” You smiled at him as Alice was making adorable baby noises.

“ Why? You don’t want to hold her anymore? I can carry her if you want.” Alastor smiled as he approached his hand toward you but you shook your head.

“ Do you want to ?”

You scrutinized Alastor’s face as he looked at you with his usual smile. He didn't seem disgusted with your baby… so why?

You sighed, shaking your head with a soft smile. You knew Alastor wasn’t like normal people, that’s also why you loved him so much. You couldn’t force him to do things if he wasn’t uncomfortable. It was like you were younger, you had to tame him before being able to touch him. Maybe it was going to be the same with Alice?

“ She is such a cute baby, I’m happy you are alive and well, little warrior!”  Said Baron Samedi watching Alice who was falling asleep. 

You stroke your baby cheek with a soft smile. You felt so different since Alice was born, it’s only been a few days and yet you felt stronger in a way. It was like being a mother gave you another kind of power…Talking about powers..

You looked at Alastor who was talking with Baron Samedi about his new power. From what he told them, he could manipulate fire, which you witnessed the night Alice died. But Kalfu had given him a reddish cane that had the power to trap souls inside of it, but Alastor would lose one year of his lifespan for each soul trapped.

“ That bastard… He really gave you that, huh…” Said Baron Samedi, crossing his arms against his torso. He didn’t seem happy with the news but he wasn’t furious either. You asked him if this power was supposed to be his, which he answered with an amused expression. “ We can say that…”

“ Am I the only one whose lifespan will be shortened ?” Asked Alastor. You tilted your head at his words, you didn’t even think about it. 

“ Logically, no. You are bound together forever, if your lifespan is being reduced because of your deal, our little lady will also shorten her lifespan.” Explained Papa Legba with his habitual warm expression.

Alastor’s gaze fell on you. You already knew what he was thinking, he didn’t want to use this power if you were affected but… Losing one year was nothing, and you wanted to use this power against one person only.

“If we trapped Trey’s soul inside the cane, we wouldn’t need it anymore.” You smiled at him, confident. “ Let’s cage his soul and then never use the cane ever again.”

Alastor studied you for a long minute before smiling as usual. He kissed your forehead with a fondness you always loved.  You knew he was thinking about a way out of this rule Kalfu decided on the canne. You trusted him, you knew he would succeed.

“ Now, let’s talk about you, my dear. You also earned another power, flying was it?” He looked at Papa Legba with a smirk that the spirit didn’t return it.

“ Well, it is the power to understand the air, that is her new power. She can’t control the air, she is only human after all.”

“ But… you said it was a new skill of mine? Levitating…”

“ Well of course, your Telekinesis power got stronger enough for you to use it on yourself to be able to levitate. You aren’t really controlling the air…”

“ But, the air was like a storm around me at that time.” You said, looking at Alastor who nodded, confirming your sayings.

“ I know little lady, I was there.  I summoned a spirit who controls the air, they are very empathic so your rage filled them enough to make a small storm inside the room. The spirit didn’t want to leave you, so you can work with them.  You will now be able to ask the wind to do things for you, if the spirit wants to, of course.”

 You looked at him confused. Why did this spirit want to work with you, you didn’t ask for them… 

You nodded slowly looking around. Was the spirit here ?

“ No, no”, laughed Legba while Baron Samedi was chuckling next to you, “ they are having fun somewhere right now. As long as you don’t summon them, they won’t stay next to you. Wind is freedom after all.”

“ So, my dearest can ask this spirit to go somewhere and do things? Or is it a passive spirit?” Asked Alastor, he seemed very interested. “ Is it the same kind of spirit that I have for my fire? Or is it different ?”

“ Well, we can say that those powers you two have are from spirits. Your powers aren’t yours, remember that. They belong to the spirits Kalfu and I let into this realm. If we ever took them back, you would be powerless.” Legba stared at you with a sadness you couldn’t understand. Was it advice or a warning..?

“ But yes, to be clear, Alastor owns a Fire spirit while the little doll works with the air spirit.” Baron Samedi said as he smoked his cigar. You frowned at the spirit who seemed confused by your glare but when you showed your baby he laughed before stepping back, smoking away from you and Alice.

“ Why do I work with a spirit and Alastor owns it?” you asked.  

“ Well… Alastor’s spirits are trapped with him until he dies or Kalfu decides he wants them back. You, little lady, work with them because they want to. They can go back to the spiritual realm if they deem you not worthy of their service.” Papa Legba explained.

“ But why?”

“ Haha ! Because you are working with Legba and your husband with Kalfu, it’s that simple.” Teased Baron Samedi.

You looked at Alastor who was smirking. You liked your conditions better, at least, you knew you still had your powers because the spirits liked you… Talking about spirits..

“ My shadow…!” You shouted, awaking Alice. She began to cry and you quickly tried to calm her down by kissing her cheeks, whispering apologies.

“ Oh yes, it went back to me.”

“Why..?” You whispered, feeling hurt, even more that now you knew for sure the spirit could decide if they wanted to stay by your side and share their powers with you. Your shadow left when you were in that special moment, but why..?

“ Oh, it asked me to make sure nothing would happen to you. I said I couldn’t do anything, so it stayed with me so it wouldn’t draw energy from you just by being by your side.”

You saw your husband's confused face, did he think the shadows did not feel anything? You were touched, your shadow tried to find help somewhere else… You missed it.

“ Can it come back..?”

“ Well, of course.” replied the old spirit.

You didn’t have the time to thank Papa Legba as you saw your shadow on the wall moving before dashing toward you. You laughed as it hugged you, covering your body with its black arms. You patted its head before it let you go and watched your baby in your arms. You smiled softly as it touched Alice’s cheeks which made her move a little before opening her eyes. 

Your shadow was then tackled but Alastor’s which made your husband scoff at his shadow actions. You knew your lover hated being seen as uncomposed, so seeing his shadow being his opposite must frustrated him. Well, it made you laugh.

The two spirits vanished after another hour of talking. You observed your husband who was watching you and your daughter. You tilted your head, opening your mouth to ask him what he was thinking about but he cut you off.

“ She has your eyes…”

You beamed, looking at your baby who was holding a lock of your hair. You couldn’t deny it, Alice had her father’s color’ eyes but the way they seemed to shine was just like your eyes. 

The day before you could leave the hospital, Victor came to congratulate you. He came with a lot of chocolate which made you beamed. You were dying to eat some since you’ve been captive here.

Alastor was mocking Victor, asking if he managed his emission at the radio. Victor seemed clearly embarrassed, saying he managed to do enough but he clearly didn’t have the same amount of audience since Alastor took some days off to stay with you. 

Victor was really a sweetheart, he couldn’t help but smile at Alice when he saw her. After a small discussion, you discovered that Victor was dying to have a child too but he was still single so it was going to be difficult. 

“ I’m sure you are going to find someone, Victor!”

“ Yes, and maybe they will listen to you on the radio.” Teased Alastor, making you shake your head with a small smile. 

After Victor left, Mimzy came in. You were surprised she even came, you weren’t very close to her, but as she entered the room she immediately congratulated Alastor and began to speak with him. 

You didn’t partake into their conversation, you mostly took care of Alice. Mimzy was the one who helped you with dancing but since Larry’s death, you didn't really interact with her, even at your wedding.

When you were discharged from the hospital, you were more than happy to go home. You could finally start this new life with Alastor.

Being a mother was challenging, you were always worried something would happen. But thankfully, your spirits were very helpful. Sometimes the wind would whisper in your ear that Alice needed to be changed, making you stop what you were doing to help your daughter.

Your shadow would also help you when you were taking care of the food, it would watch over Alice, making her laugh. You wondered if it was normal, your shadow could interact with people but you weren’t sure if they could see it… But Legba taught you that children were very sensible to the spiritual realm. If Alice was capable of seeing your shadow once she was older, then you would be sure that she has spiritual powers.

Alastor was so attentive to your needs too. Sometimes you would just fall on the bed because you were so exhausted that you couldn’t do anything more. Alastor would take care of the cooking, ordering you to take a bath and not do anything else.

Marie and your mother would come often, helping you when you felt like you were going to turn crazy because Alice couldn’t sleep and was crying since this morning. 

One night, you woke up because you were sure you heard Alice crying. You didn’t notice Alastor wasn’t by your side on the bed. You saw the baby bed empty and almost fainted. Where was your baby? 

You felt the wind pushing toward a direction and you followed it until you were in front of Alastor’s office. You peeked inside the room and almost melted at the sight. 

Alastor was holding Alice in his arms while showing her his old radio that he had owned since his childhood. Alice was blablating like a baby, trying to reach for the radio.

“ Ha-ha. Young lady, this radio is older than you, you should be respectful.” Alastor tutted, taking Alice’s hands away from his precious items. “ Now, you need to be able to be quick minded, if not you would get bored… We don’t want that, right?” 

You smiled when you saw Alice smiled and reached for her father’s face. Alastor tilted his face toward your baby, permitting Alice to touch his glasses, before looking at you with a fond smile.

“ Darling, you are awake…”

You walked toward him, caressing his cheek as he closed his eyes when he felt your touch. You looked at your baby and husband, was happiness this simple? You kissed Alastor with all the affections you could convey. How happy you felt…

Alastor would talk with Alice, never using a baby voice like Marie or your mother would do. He would talk like he was talking to an adult which made you laugh when he asked her if she wanted to try Jambalaya when she was older.

The first time Alice said mommy, you almost dropped her. You were teaching her how to talk, Alastor was sitting next to you with his coffee and then Alice just said it.

“ Mo..Mommy..”

You froze as Alastor coughed, almost choking on his drink. You stared at your baby who was giggling, her hand reaching for your face. You hugged her while semi-screaming to your husband.

“ Did you hear? Did you?”

“ I think I did. Well done Alice.”

When Alice finally said Dad, you smirked at Alastor who couldn’t help himself but smirked at his daughter, saying she better learn more words or they couldn’t have a discussion.

You took a lot of pictures with your camera. Pictures about Alastor and Alice, Alice alone, you and your daughter. Alastor would play the piano and you would sing, smiling when you saw your baby looking at the both of you with stars in her eyes.

When she took her first steps, you were sitting on the sofa, watching her as she was playing with toys that Victor had gifted her. Alastor was working and you knew he would come later tonight.

But then, 9 month old Alice just decided it was time for her to walk. She stood up, making you freeze, and then walked clumsily toward you with a big smile. You quickly opened your arms and took her against your chest, screaming in delight. You put her on the floor once more and then walked away a bit and stared at her.

“ Come to mommy, Alice!”

She tilted her head but then she did it again.

When Alastor came from work you told him not to move and put Alice on the floor. Alastor tilted his head before his eyes widened when he saw your daughter walking toward him. He crouched in front of her with a smirk, watching her as she clumsily fell in his arms.

“ Well, isn’t it early for you to already walk?”

The only answer he got  was you, screaming in joy and Alice’s happy noises.

That night, Alice slept peacefully.You were watching over her with a fond expression. You felt your husband's arms wrapping themselves around your waist and his hot torso being against your back.

“ Still nothing?”

“ Nothing that could make him fall.”

You knew, while you were taking care of Alice, Alastor was trying to find clues about Trey. You really felt useless, letting Alastor take care of everything but he told you that you shouldn’t care about it. For now, your preoccupation was to take care of Alice and yourself.

His shadow was always with your daughter and you. After what Trey did, he didn't want to take any risks. Alastor thought Trey would try to hurt you, but you weren’t feeling it. And Alastor would always take your feeling seriously about a situation.

“ I think he doesn't want anything to do with us.”

“ Why is that, dear?”

“ Well, I had a feeling so.. I asked the wind which told me..” You grimaced when you saw Alastor’ eyes changing. He was staring at you, without moving, his nails digging into your wais. You knew he was angry because you used a spirit to keep track of Trey. “ Listen.. I don’t.. I can’t let you do all the work.”

“ What if he saw the spirit? What if he felt it?” Alastor asked, his voice dangerously low.

“ He didn’t, the spirit would have told me…  But, now that he is without a wife, he cares about the testament from his father in law.. He wants the Richemonts’s wealth.”

“ Well, he is going to own it. He is the rightful heir to all of Richemont's wealth…”

You sighed, shaking your head, your fist clenching so hard you felt your nails digging into the palms of your hands.

“ He doesn’t own it. Richemont's name doesn’t belong to him.” You spat, feeling anger taking place inside you making the wind around you move your and Alastor’s hair.

“ Don’t worry, we will kill him before he manages that.” Alastor said, kissing your cheek, while his hands were moving toward your neck. You sighed as he squeezed it a little, just like your husband told you, everything was going to turn alright. 

Years passed by and this is where you were right now: June 1932.

Alice was now five and she was the most beautiful little girl you ever met! She had lighter skin tan than her father but she had his brown-honey like eyes, her hair was lighter than yours, but she had long wavy locks. She had a cute red dress with a pink ribbon. She had quite a mouth, just like her father.

She was playful, clever, expressive, witty, entertaining and joyful. Marie said she was the perfect mixt of you and Alastor which you agreed. Alice could be very polite with adults, but a brat with her classmates. She was overconfident in herself, thinking she had all the answers. Of course, Alastor would laugh, testing her every time.

And of course, Alastor wasn’t taking gloves, even with Alice, so their banter would last thirty minutes before Alice ran into your arms, saying that her dad was being mean. Alastor would just say he was not mean, just better than her and another banter would start.

You were so scared that Alastor wouldn’t like his daughter but thank Gods, they had their moment of complicity.  Alice always loved going into her father’s workplace, a passion she had since Alastor showed her everything about radio. She would sit on his laps while he was doing his emission, being a good girl, never bothering her father.

You also would , as a family, dance together. Most of the time Alastor would be on the piano while you and Alice would dance. She wanted to learn to dance like you so you taught her some moves. She loved blues and jazz, making Alastor proud.

She would love gossiping, when her father would come back, you would bake something and then, Alastor would sit on the sofa while you sat on his laps and Alice would sit between the two of you, listening to what Alastor had to say. You knew she didn’t understand everything but she would listen either way, even falling asleep to both your voices.

But right now, you had another problem.

You ran after Alice who laughed, trying to catch Alastor’s shadow, which seemed to have the time of this life. You caught her in your arms, pecking her on her cheeks.

“ You are going to have trouble, young lady!” You laughed, as she was trying to be free from your arms.

“ Mommy, can we go see Dad?”

You looked at Marie who was laughing behind her hand. She was getting older but she still looked good.  You decided to visit her after seeing your mother and father. You always wondered if she felt lonely but she always told you that Alastor often came to see her, and she liked being alone. 

“ Say goodbye to grandma, then.”

Alice ran toward Marie and hugged her tightly before taking Eamon in her arms. You never thought Alice would choose Eamon as her plushie but she always took him with her when she had to go outside. When you first noticed it, you asked Alastor if it wasn’t dangerous for the bound that you shared.

Alastor thought for a moment before saying that his shadow would be with you, so nothing would happen to your deer plushie. And Alice was already loving the plushie, so taking it away from her would result in a tantrum.

“ See you later, Marie.” You kissed her on both cheeks before taking Alice’s hand in yours and walking toward Alastor’s workplace.

“ Are we going to see auntie later?”

You smiled at her, since she was born Alice was calling your deceased best friend, auntie. You would take her to the cemetery and talk about her, your daughter listening to your adventures with sparkles in her eyes. 

“ Not today, my baby, maybe tomorrow?”

Alice nodded before walking with you, sometimes stopping to watch inside a shop. You smiled as she stopped in front of a candy shop, she had a sweet tooth just like you. You let go of her hands as she pressed her face against the glass.

“ Mrs. Sanglar…”

You turned your head toward the policeman you knew too well. You felt a breeze of wind moving your hair before everything turned silent.

“ Mr. Felleur.”

“ Oh.. You don’t have to call me that. I’m still John for you–”

“ What can I do for you, sir.”

You saw John's face fall. It was taking every once of your energy not to kill him right now. Since Alice’s birth, Alastor and you haven't killed anyone. Alastor was too busy with work and finding clues about Trey and you were busy taking care of Alice, the house and sometimes asking spirits about Trey.

You knew Alastor had pulsions, and during those times, when he couldn’t kill, you would play in the forest. Alastor had a gun and you had a knife, the first who touched the other won. You lost most of the time, but when Alastor was taking his reward, you didn’t mind losing.

But you knew it wasn’t enough, even for you. You craved tearing an eye off from someone's face, preferably Trey’s face but well…

Because of that, the serial killer that all of New Orelans’s police were looking after, thought that the serial killer had died or managed to run away in another country. Some journalists were making stories, saying that the last victim of the serial killer had been Alice Richemont. Some were thinking Alice was the serial killer because after her death, no kills were reported.

How stupid.

You felt Alice taking your hand, making you look down. She was like you, an empath, she often could feel what others couldn’t. Now, was this just because she was very empathic or was there something else..

“ Oh… Is she your daughter..?” He asked with a small smile.

You rolled your eyes, what a stupid man. 

“ What do you want from me, officer?”

You stared as John began to speak. After 5 years, John looked the same. He still had these piercing green eyes, his build was more muscular but he was still incapable of looking at you in the eyes without blushing.

“ — So , what are your thoughts?”

Ah, you didn’t listen..

“ Mommy and I are going to see Dad! We won’t go with you!” You looked at your daughter who stomped her foot on the ground, squeezing Eamon against her. You smiled sweetly, she was so cute, pouting like this. You looked at John and freezed when you saw his eyes fixated on Alice. Why was he looking at her like this? 

Alice must have felt it because she tugged your arms so you could carry her. You did it immediately, staring at John.

“ Officer.”

“ So, you still have this deer plushie..”

“ Yes.”

John looked away from Eamon and looked at you but before he could open his cursed mouth, you walked past him, keeping Alice head against your chest. You didn't want to deal with Felleur right now, you haven’t seen John since your friend’s death…

You felt your shadow touch your ankle, making sure you were okay. You only smiled at it, you were stronger now, this conversation wasn’t going to make you feel bad.

You finally entered your husband ‘s workplace and smiled at Victor. He aged just like fine wine, you wondered how he could still be single! 

“ Victor!” Alice ran from your arms to jump into Victor’s who spun her in his arms.

“ Isn’t the princess of New Orleans ?” Cheered Victor. He looked at you and smiled before you hugged him to say hello. “ Alastor is in his office, he finished working so you can go.”

“ Do you want to see Dad, Alice?”

“ Not yet! I’m staying with Victor!”

You laughed, before going toward your husband’s office. You knocked before entering without waiting for Alastor to open the door. You looked as your husband lifted his head up, his smile way wider than usual.. It was the smile he had when…

He knew he was going to kill.

He dashed toward you, took your face between his hands and kissed you until you felt like you were going to die from the lack of air. He let you go, making you gasp for air, and then dive into your neck, kissing it, biting it…

“ Al-Alastor.. what–”

“ I know. I found it.”

“ What?”

“ Trey Felleur, I know how to make him fall.”

You felt your heart beat faster, you felt like you had a punch in the gut. You weren’t even sure if you heard him correctly. It’s been five years. Five years and you both never discovered anything about Trey that could put him behind the bar… or six feet underground.

“ How..?”

“ We are going to use our dear John. I know from a very trustful source that Trey wants Richemont’s wealth, he needs it, it’s very important.” He said with his maniac smile you missed so much. “ But guess who will earn all of it after Alice’s father dies?”

“ … his wife..?”

“ No, no darling. Us.”

“ … You aren’t making any sense, Alastor–”

“ My Love, curse of my sanity, listen to me. Alice’s father, Maurice, changed his will, he thinks Trey is the one who killed his daughter. He came to me and I confirmed his suspicion. He then decided to give to Alyzée and us, all of the Richemont’s wealth.”

“ … But why?”

“ Well, our daughter was the key. I told him we named our daughter, Alice. I think he got emotional, I don’t understand it but he asked us to make Trey fall.” He smirked cunningly.

“ Okay… but how do we make him fall?”

“ Don’t you think he is going to try to make Maurice change his will, trying to make it seem like he didn't do it?” you nodded. “ Then, we will attack John. I will tell all of New Orleans on the radio that John killed my father because he owed him money, that is why he came so many times on my mother’s property: to hide the corpse.”

“ But why would John try–”

“ The Felleur are in need of money, dear.” He laughed, leaning back before pushing you against the wall, caging you between his hands. “ The stock market crash in 1929 destroyed them.”

You could feel yourself smiling, feeling excited in your belly. You bit your lips,breathing heavily, staring at your husband who watched you with pure madness.

“ Trey can not lose the Richemont’s wealth, so he will do anything to keep it under his control. But if we frame John as a killer, don’t you think people would look at Trey suspiciously. Alice’s killer wasn’t found, but it was John who was taking care of the case. Trey could have killed Alice for her wealth and then used John to make him innocent…”

You looked at Alastor like you could bite him so hard he would bleed so much. He was amazing.. You were shaking with excitement. You brought your hand toward his face with a big smile.

“ If we frame John for my father’s death, Trey would have to act, making him more capable of making a mistake. We could kill him and then mask it as a suicide.”

You kissed your husband so fiercely he groaned against your lips. You spined him around before pushing his back against the wall. You bit his lips then kissed them again while Alastor’s hands were already moving on your body.

You loved him, you loved him, you loved him, he was… he was!

“ Dad, Mommy, open !”

You heard Alastor swear under his breath which made you laugh. You stepped back, making sure your dress was perfect before opening for your little girl. She ran inside your husband's office and sat on Alastor’s chair with a big smile.

“ Dad, you look bad!”

“ Look at yourself first, my dear daughter.”

You smiled, leaning your head against the wall, watching as Alastor taught Alice about every button he used for his broadcast.  Alastor was now 32 and you were 30. But your husband was still as breathtaking as when he was younger. It’s been five years since you didn’t see his blood lust expression, you really missed… but…

After five years, revenge was on its way.

Tag List: @lukneetoonz @martinys-world @littlepoetnova @sirens-and-moonflowers @eris-norwega @tiredflame132 @mo-0-o @vvollerie @sodavizz @boogiemansbitch @tessemerick @slytherin4ever @kammsinn @alastorssimp @t0xic1vi @diamond-almond @fangirlbitch02 @saccharine-nectarine @thenorthnightingale @bibliophile-yomna @itzjustj-1000 @mothraantics @yourdoorisunlocked @phamtasic @karmakillz @holographicage @sarcastic-sourwolf @akuraluna2468 @everwolf-20 @thesunandmoons-blog @songbrita @noraunor @fandomsbookclub @hokkaido97 @catticora @gasiacos @charlottemorningstarsdarling @nekee-lilac02

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️ Tears drown you to the moon / A knight appears for you to swoon / He brings forth joy and fortune / Until gold turns into maroon 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - Down Bad

wc: 1.3k

genre & warnings: angst, fluff, smut, college setting, heartbreak, ghosting, cursing, working out lmao, unprotected sex, car sex etc etc mdni

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

You wait for your partner to arrive at the fancy restaurant you're in, giddy at the mere thought of being with him for the whole day.

It's been a while since you've seen him, both of you busy with your own lives, but now that your schedules have aligned, it's the perfect time to go on a date.

You smiled when the familiar figure entered the establishment, holding a beautiful bouquet of pink tulips.

"Jake!" you waved your hand, catching his attention and when you did, he beamed at you, walking in your direction and the room was suddenly brighter now that he'd graced it with his presence.

"Hello baby, I missed you." he comes to you, bending down a bit to give you a peck on the cheek. "Here, I saw this down the road and I thought of you."

He handed you the bunch of flowers, your heart swelling at the thoughtful action.

Isn't he so sweet? The dream man that anyone would've wanted and needed. More so when he can satisfy you in the middle of the night, in his leather seat, floundering under him.

The dinner was left unfinished, the dessert long forgotten when Jake can't seem to move his eyes away from your cleavage. Dragging you out of the restaurant and flinging you into his car, and he ain't patient enough to take you home before taking you for himself.

"Jake, r-right there!" you moaned, scratching his exposed back when he hit your g-spot perfectly. The sting riled him up even more, his thrusts becoming unbelievably harder and faster.

Being fucked in a car isn't exactly your cup of tea, but you're willing to explore as long as it's with him. Bodies bent almost impossibly at the cramped back seat, windows fogged up from the nasty activity, and the vehicle surely is moving weirdly on the outside.

"So fucking tight." Jake cursed, pounding into you relentlessly, relishing in the way your walls clamp around him whenever he gives you praises.

His length bullies into your wetness and your juices are smeared all over the material of his car seat, but Jake couldn't care less. All that matters is how good you feel and how heavenly he's making you feel.

"J-Jake. I'm close. Please." you begged for nothing in particular, but he knows what you want after doing this for so many times now.

The man moves his hand towards your hair, gentle at first then he suddenly tugs on your tresses, lifting your head forcefully.

"You'll cum when I tell you to, baby." he smirks, seeing your helpless expression and whimpering, and despite the difficulties, you managed to whisper a small 'okay.'

He loves it when you're like this, compliant and willing to take whatever he gives you. For that, you deserve a reward.

Using the hand that is still burning your scalp, he tilts your head in an angle that he liked the best, leaning down and trailing pecks all over your neck before biting onto your clavicle, nibbling over the area and lulling the dull pain with his warm tongue.

He then comes up to your face, kissing you with passion and he takes your open mouth as an advantage to slip his wet appendage in, sucking your own tongue in the process.

it was all too much. He is too much and you don't think you can hold out for much longer.

"I.. Jake. P-please let me cum." your glassy orbs staring at him so innocently, crying out in relief when he released your hair, opting to hold onto your waist.

"Hm." he grunts, going wilder in abusing your cunt, "Cum with me then, princess."

His dick twitched and you nodded your head vigorously, gazing right into his dark, hooded eyes.

He buried himself to the hilt, his warm seed spurting in your walls and that had you going over the edge as well.

Jake furrows his brows, fixing your unkempt hair and grabbing a towel that was inside a compartment, wiping your sweat away.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you." he apologizes, his usual puppy features returning and the blood rushed into his face when you jokingly said that you love it whenever he acts like a total jerk during sex.

He leaves a kiss on the crown of your head with a giggle, and for a minute you could mistake him as a highschool boy with a crush.

"Let's go home, yeah? I'll prepare you a bath and we'll watch your favorite movie. I'll also cook my special ramen for a late night snack."

You really couldn't ask for anything more than this man.

---------------------------------------------------

"No, I'm telling you. He's perfect!" you argued with your friends, laughing at their fake gagging noises.

Then, your phone dinged, a message notification. You momentarily paused your pilates session, heading to your bag and seeing a text from Jake.

"Y/N, this is important. We need to talk. Let's meet up in the usual café."

You raised an eyebrow but obliged nonetheless, taking some time to freshen yourself up and bidding goodbyes to your friends, quickly leaving the gym.

Upon entering the café, you immediately spotted your boyfriend, walking up to him with a smile.

"Hey, what's up?" you asked, sitting in the empty space in front of him.

"Y/N, I got the scholarship that I wanted in Australia." he dropped the news, and you are genuinely happy for him.

"Oh my god!" you reached over to hold his hand, grasping it in pure excitement, "Congratulations! That's one step away from your dream."

"Yeah, but.." he trails, and you understand where he's coming from.

"I'll support you." you say, peering into his worried chocolate orbs, "We'll make this work."

He nods, intertwining your fingers together, "We will."

Lies.

When god poured down the traits of deception, Sim Jaeyun caught it all. And when the devil sprung up some naiveté, you drank it all up.

You run on the treadmill at high speed, heavy footsteps match your labored breathing.

The fucker flew to Australia and it seemed like he forgot that he left someone that is waiting for him.

He posts on social media and he's enjoying himself, alright. Drinking beer, eating steak, playing soccer. He's updating the whole world of what is happening in his life except you... personally that is.

Is this what it feels like to be taken by some aliens, showing you a different world, a different galaxy that you loved so much, only to be dropped off in your old, sullen town.

Is this what it feels like to be bombarded by astronomical love, only to realize that it will vanish into thin air once the distance is a million of light years.

It's not like you haven't tried contacting him. You did. You reminded him of your presence, but you were ignored like dead grass in the park.

It's unbearable. So fucking unfair and you have no choice but to accept reality, despite the fact that breathing is as burdensome as moving on from him.

How can you even forget him? Is that even possible?

He presented you a strikingly gorgeous sanctuary, abandoning you there and you're stuck in a time loop of waiting for him to come back and pick you up. But all that's left are the ghosts of him that haunts you even in your dreams.

"You'll find someone new." is what they all say, but what do they know?

"Fuck!" you yelled, slamming your fist onto the controls of the treadmill and the machine came into a whirring stop.

You dropped onto your knees, hiding your face in your arms that were slinging onto the sides of the gym equipment, wailing like a child throwing a tantrum because a candy wasn't given to her despite her efforts to study for an important test.

"How the fuck will I be able to find someone new?"

Brand new is not an option, because what and who you wanted and needed was the old one.

What's the purpose of building forts if it's not gonna be used with your starry eyed beloved?

Dying is rather the better option than being with someone else, simply because you don't want anyone else if it's not your ramen lover of a golden retriever.

taglist:

@ramenoil @shakalakaboomboo

[harpsinfinity]

Arthur Morgan x female!reader

Smut !!

choked back whimpers mixed with the quiet night air of the camp, the sound of the dying fire crackling one last time was silenced from the pleasurable bubble you had wrapped yourself and Arthur up in.

Sharing heated kisses and wandering touches with the outlaw as the night progressed. His big, bulky arms kept you in place on his lap, a wall of muscle anchoring you down to place kisses among kisses as if it was as vital as the air that he breathed in.

--------------------

It wasn't long before you were stark naked beneath him, exposed for his greedy eyes to take in and successfully burn the image of you like this into his brain, while he was still fully clothed.

"you're so beautiful, sweet girl" he drawls, the sound hitting your ears and shooting straight down your spine to your core, like adding coal to an already roaring fire

"Arthur- wan' you" you whine, fingers desperately carding through his hair. You see a sly grin play on his lips, he presses them to your neck

"you've got me, sweetheart" he rasps right in your ear, it forces a whimper to fall from your lips as he descends downwards. His lips sure to leave marks in their wake.

His lips fall to your chest, sticking gentle kisses to your breasts before sealing around your nipples. Your back arches, pushing into his face as he sucks, turning it into hardened peaks. Repeating again, giving the same amount of attention to your other breast, leaving tingles behind.

He trails down your torso, leaving a trail of wet kisses before reaching where you needed his lips on you most

"y'ready, darlin'?" His lips hover, feeling his hot breath on your clit made your hips squirm

"yes, yes ! Oh please Arthur !" You beg, the ache pulsing between your legs becoming unbearable

He rumbles a low chuckle before he finally, finally, gives you the relief you'd been looking for. His tongue circles your twitching bundle of nerves before he seals his lips around it and sucks, wrenching a squeal out of you

Your hands instantly grip his short locks, pushing him into your dripping core, your hips jump and the vibration of his groaning sends shock waves to your quivering walls

Your head leans back as your hips rise for more, the soft murmur of his name has his cock twitching. Giving you a few more gentle sucks and licks to your hole, leaving your nearly breathless, before he rises to his knees.

Hands fumbling with his belt and zipper, pushing it down just enough to free his cock. He lines himself up before slowly pushing in, the painful pleasure of being split open as your gasping, your eyes fluttering shut.

When he bottoms out in you, Arthur covers your entire body with his, caging you in. His fingers thread through yours as he begins to thrust his fat cock in and out with slow and hard strokes. He peppers your neck with more kisses as he seems to hit every right spot in your walls

With Arthur it was never fucking, rather, love-making. He was always oh-so gentle with you unless you asked otherwise, with you, he just gave and gave and gave. Making sure you had cum your brains out before granting his own release

"c'mon, pretty girl, come for me. Know you wanna" he rumbles in your ear like silk, his voice alone had you clamping down hard on his cock, earning a groan from him. Your legs wrap around his waist, keeping him in place as he took you higher, and higher towards your orgasm.

"oh- oh fuck !" You keen, you tremor and shake, your vision flashing white has you gushed around Arthur's cock, your jaw slack.

After a few more hard thrusts, he painted your slick walls with his release. Both of you slumping against the cot.

Arthur rearranged your position, he had you bundled up in his arms, head on his chest. which allowed you to hear the gentle thrumming of his heartbeat. A lullaby all on it's own.

It didn't take you long to find the blissful embrace of sleep, Arthur not far behind as the pair of you surrounded yourself in a bubble or comfort and vulnerability

harpsinfinity 2024©

[honeeybee3]

Home Is Where You Are

Miguel x reader Summary: After a long day at the Spider Society, Miguel returns home to his pregnant wife. The mundane reality of domestic life is what keeps him grounded, and today, coming home to her is exactly what he needs.

___________________

Miguel’s muscles ached, and his head felt heavy with the weight of a thousand thoughts. Another day of wrangling Spider-People, managing interdimensional crises, and keeping the multiverse from collapsing into itself had left him weary to the bone. But the thought of home, and more importantly, the person waiting for him there, was the only thing that kept him going.

He punched in the coordinates and opened the portal, stepping through with a sigh of relief. He never thought he’d appreciate the mundane tranquility of his own apartment so much, but life had a way of surprising him. And lately, everything seemed brighter, more meaningful because of her.

The door to their apartment creaked softly as he stepped inside, closing it gently behind him. Instantly, the familiar, soothing scent of home surrounded him: a mixture of vanilla, freshly baked cookies, and the faintest hint of her favorite lavender soap. He could hear soft music playing in the background—a playlist they’d made together a few months ago, featuring all the songs they’d slow danced to late at night in the kitchen.

“Cariño, I’m home,” he called out, his deep voice echoing through the quiet hallway. He set down his bag and peeled off his shoes, sighing at the immediate release of tension. He felt like a different man just by being here, in their shared space. The Miguel who was exhausted and irritable, weighed down by the universe’s problems, was slowly replaced by the Miguel who was simply a husband. Her husband.

A soft rustling came from the living room, and then she appeared, glowing and beautiful as ever, even in her oversized pajamas. His gaze instinctively dropped to the gentle curve of her belly, the small yet precious life growing inside of her.

“Hey, you,” she murmured with a warm smile, leaning against the doorway. “Rough day?”

“Long day,” he corrected, crossing the room in a few strides to wrap his arms around her. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead, and then, without hesitation, dropped to his knees, placing both hands on either side of her belly. “And how are my girls doing?”

She laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “We’re fine, but I think one of your girls missed you more than the other.”

“Is that right, princesa?” He whispered softly, rubbing his thumb gently over the spot where he knew the baby liked to kick the most. “Did you give mamá a hard time today?”

“Not too much,” she replied, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair. It was a comforting gesture, one she knew he loved. “Just a few kicks here and there. She’s definitely your daughter—she only seems to calm down when she hears your voice.”

“Smart girl,” he murmured with a smirk, planting a few more kisses on her belly before standing back up. “Just like her mamá.”

Miguel’s eyes softened as he took in her face. She looked a little tired, but there was a serene happiness in her gaze that never failed to touch something deep inside him. The kind of happiness that came from being loved and cared for—and, in turn, loving and caring for someone else.

“Did you eat yet?” he asked, guiding her gently back towards the couch. “I can make something if you haven’t.”

“You spoil me,” she teased, but let him fuss over her, knowing it brought him as much comfort as it did her. “I had a little snack, but I wanted to wait for you. How about we cook together?”

He hesitated. He wanted her to sit and relax, put her feet up and let him do everything, but he also knew she hated feeling like she couldn’t contribute. So, with a small nod, he agreed. “Okay, but you’re on chopping duty only. No heavy lifting.”

“Bossy as always,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow. “But I suppose I can let you play chef tonight.”

They made their way to the kitchen, and Miguel pulled out the ingredients for a simple pasta dish—something they could whip up quickly but still enjoy together. He set her up with a cutting board and a pile of vegetables while he started on the sauce.

For a while, they worked in companionable silence, the only sounds being the gentle chopping of the knife and the simmering of tomatoes and garlic in the pan. Every now and then, she’d glance up at him and catch him already looking at her with an affectionate smile.

“What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she tossed the diced bell peppers into the bowl.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, turning back to stir the sauce. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

“Hmm, are you now?” She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, letting her lips linger for a second longer than usual. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“Debatable,” he murmured, but his smile widened.

They moved around the kitchen with the ease of people who were completely in sync. There was no rush, no urgency—just the simple joy of being together. Miguel handed her a spoonful of sauce to taste, watching as she closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation.

“Perfect,” she declared, giving him a thumbs up. “As usual.”

He let out a small chuckle, feeling a sense of pride swell in his chest. “Glad you think so, querida.”

Dinner was served soon after, and they settled down at the table, their knees brushing under the surface. It was moments like these—sharing a quiet meal, exchanging stories about their day, and occasionally feeding each other bites of food—that made him forget about the chaos outside these walls. Here, it was just the two of them—and their unborn child, of course. A tiny world within a world that was untouched by danger and responsibility.

“So, what did you get up to today?” Miguel asked between bites, his gaze never straying far from her face.

“I worked on a few nursery designs,” she said excitedly. “I’m thinking something neutral, maybe a soft yellow. What do you think?”

He paused, picturing their future daughter’s room painted in those colors, filled with tiny clothes and toys. The image made his heart swell.

“I think that sounds perfect,” he murmured. “You always have the best ideas.”

Her smile lit up her entire face, and for a moment, he felt like the luckiest man in every universe combined.

After dinner, they migrated to the living room, where she insisted on massaging his shoulders, claiming he looked tense. He tried to protest, but one firm look from her had him sitting obediently on the couch while she worked her magic.

“Better?” she asked softly, her fingers working out the knots in his muscles.

“Mmm,” he rumbled in satisfaction. “Much better. But I think I should be the one doing this for you.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You take care of me so much, Miguel. Let me do something for you too.”

He sighed, reaching up to grab her hand and intertwining their fingers. “I just… I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” she whispered, squeezing his hand gently. “Because of you.”

They sat like that for a long time, her arms wrapped around him from behind while he held onto her hand, drawing strength from her presence. The soft hum of the music and the warmth of her body against his back were more soothing than any remedy.

Eventually, they shifted, settling into their usual cuddling position on the couch. She nestled into his side, her head resting on his chest while he draped an arm protectively around her shoulders. His other hand found its way to her belly again, tracing gentle circles over the fabric of her pajamas.

“Can you believe it?” she murmured, breaking the comfortable silence. “We’re going to be parents soon.”

“I know,” he whispered, a hint of awe in his voice. “I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

She glanced up at him, her eyes shining with love. “You’re going to be such a good dad, Miguel.”

He swallowed hard, emotions swirling within him. The thought of fatherhood had scared him at first—terrified him, even. But with her by his side, those fears seemed smaller, more manageable. Because he knew they’d face it together.

“I hope so,” he said softly. “I just want to give her everything. Everything I never had.”

“You will,” she promised, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You already do, just by being you.��

He leaned into her touch, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I love you,” he murmured, the words holding a depth of emotion that he could never fully express.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, leaning up to capture his lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until the sky outside their window darkened and the soft sounds of the city filtered in. Slowly, the day’s exhaustion began to catch up with them, and she let out a sleepy yawn, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“Time for bed, cariño,” Miguel murmured, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled, but made no move to get up.

With a fond chuckle, Miguel scooped her up into his arms, carrying her to their bedroom. She let out a content sigh, her head resting against his shoulder as he gently laid her down on their bed. He slid in beside her, wrapping his arms around her once more.

“Goodnight, mi amor,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Goodnight, Miguel,” she murmured, already drifting off to sleep.

As he lay there, watching her breathe softly beside him, his hand still resting on the gentle swell of her belly, Miguel felt a profound sense of peace settle over him. No matter what challenges awaited him at the Spider Society tomorrow, he knew that he had a safe haven to return to. A place where love and hope bloomed, filling every corner with warmth.

Home wasn’t just a place—it was her. It was them. And as long as they were together, everything else would fall into place.

With one last, loving glance, Miguel closed his eyes and let sleep take him, his heart full and his soul content.

[kolyasangel]

this place i call home

synopsis: after a long day at work, sigma really needs to relax in your arms...

content: fem!reader, sleepy n tired sigma, so so fluffy and soft

"Dear?" Sigma's voice called out for you after he opened the front door to your shared home, his heels clacking against the floor as he made his way inside, closing the door after him.

No response.

That's weird. You always got home from work earlier than him.

"Darling? Are you home?"

His eyebrows furrowed in frustration, scanning the room devoid of your presence. He was so excited to see you, yet you weren't here where he wanted you to be. Making his way toward the couch, he sat down, slipping off his shoes and coat, setting them aside before resting his head against a pillow. As his eyelids grew heavier by the second, a brief nap on the couch didn't seem like a bad idea to pass the time before you returned home soon.

Soon enough, you opened the front door, entering with a plastic bag in your hand.

That was before your eyes laid upon Sigma sleeping on the couch, your heart throbbing at the sight. He was resting on a pillow with one arm covering his eyes, probably to block the light from above, and his pretty, tousled hair splayed out in all different directions on the arm of the couch. You tried to be as quiet as possible, removing your shoes and placing your things on the counter before approaching him. Kneeling at his level, you gently ran your fingers through his hair and placed a kiss on his forehead. He shifted in his sleep, grumbling at the sudden disturbance.

"Hey, it's okay," you whispered to avoid startling him too much. "It's just me."

Sigma's hazy eyes slowly opened to see a figure above him, his lips curling into a smile once he recognized it was you.

"You're home.."

You released a soft gasp as Sigma quickly sat up and wrapped his arms around you, feeling giddy at how he must've missed you throughout the day. His chest is pressed flush against yours, head resting on top of yours, fingers tangled in your hair, a sigh of relief leaving him as he basked in your company. No matter how many layers of clothing you two wore, you could always feel each other's warmth through the fabric.

"We ran out of your favorite tea, so I went to buy some more," you said, explaining your late arrival to him.

"You did?"

How sweet. You could've waited until tomorrow, but as soon as you noticed it had run out, you decided to go out and restock. After all, you knew how much he enjoyed his nightly cup of tea. He released you from his embrace to stand up and walk to the counter, you following behind. He rummaged through the plastic bag—a box of honey lavender tea and a sprinkled sugar cookie.

"And a little snack in case you were hungry," you add.

"Thank you.." He replied with a smile, gratefulness evident in his eyes from your thoughtful action.

You faced him, gazing into his slate eyes and giving his shoulders a squeeze. "Did you eat lunch today, Sigma?" While waiting for a response, you help untie his tie, rolling it up after watching the fabric surrender and collapse in your hands. You then unbuttoned his dress shirt, taking your time with each button, each moment of the intimate gesture enrapturing you. Helping him undress after work was a daily ritual for you, a mundane task, but you enjoyed doing it for him regardless, cherishing the closeness it brought to your relationship.

Sigma's gaze was fixated on the floor as you did this, ashamed to admit the truth, scared to see the look of disappointment on your face. He didn't want you to feel like you had to take care of and look after him all the time, as he had promised you to make an effort to prioritize his health over work, but it seems like he's forgotten. Despite this, he eventually shook his head, and the way you halted your movements fueled his head with more nervousness. But, rather than what he expected, you only smiled and hugged him instead, wanting to ease his worries.

"That's okay, you're trying your best. I'll make something for us, alright? And your tea as well."

You're so kind and patient with him. He felt so undeserving of your love.

"You have to eat Sigma, or else you'll get sick if you don't," you told him before making your way toward the kitchen.

You're too good for him.  

"Wait.." He grabbed your wrist before you could move any further.

"Just stay next to me for a bit, please." He pleaded, intertwining his fingers with yours. The way his other hand went up to his face to rub his eyes showed his tiredness. He's so cute when he's sleepy. You nodded and led him, settling him back onto the couch before carefully removing his earrings and placing them on the coffee table. Sigma felt his heartbeat pick up as he experienced the kindness of your gestures, knowing that you were aware of his stress.

"How about I give you a scalp massage?"

He nodded gleefully to your offer, immediately leaning closer so you could touch him. Your fingers glided through his hair, fingerpads pressing lightly onto his scalp and moving them in small circles, attempting to relax him as much as possible. He let out a sigh in content, closing his eyes and groaning.

"God, that feels good love."

Your hands ghosted over his skin, to the back of his neck, rubbing your fingers in circle-like motions to soothe his tense muscles before dropping to his shoulders.

"Rough day today, honey?"

A frown fell upon his lips, thinking about your question earnestly and stringing his answer together before responding. Most days, he would come home with at least some good news to share with you, but it seemed like today was not one of those days.

"It was okay, I suppose. One of the slot machines was broken without my knowledge, which made a customer upset. I felt guilty for such a mishap so I offered them drinks on the house and had a slot tech get the machine repaired immediately. I just kept thinking about that the whole day, how I must've disappointed someone and," he sighed before continuing, "I also had a lot of papers to go over today, but other than that, it was fine."

You rubbed his back while you listened to him speak, a pout forming on your lips as you examined his weary state while he spoke. Listening to Sigma recount the mishap today and express his guilt about the situation reminded you of what initially drew you to him—his kindness. All you wanted to do was take all his stress away. The least you could do was this, being here for him when he needed you, you thought. Your hard-working man only deserved the best treatment after an exhausting day.

"It's not your fault, Sigma, please don't blame yourself." You reassured him, aware of the doubts he harbored as a manager. He loved when you did this, listening intently to him vent about the stresses of his day, empathizing and validating his feelings as he melted into a puddle in your arms.

"Do you know the biggest reason why I love you?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands.

He shook his head with widened eyes, keen to know the answer.

"You're so kind."

"And you're sweet," he managed to stammer out with a blush at your response, and the way you were leaning into him didn't make his flustered state any better either.

"Shh, you're sweeter.." You used your fingers to comb through his bangs, moving them to the front, giggling as Sigma shook his head, who was shy from your fervent words. He held onto your waist while you played with his hair, observing your pretty face with dilated pupils.

"You should wear your bangs to the front more often. You look cute like this."

Sigma looked aside to conceal his embarrassment, his cheeks dusted with a tint of pink. "My bangs don't look good like that, they're better kept swept to the sides." Despite thinking this, he didn't make any effort to touch his hair, instead looking at you like a shy little boy. "But if you like it, then I'll wear them like that more often.."

All fell silent for a moment before Sigma drew you close, his hand carefully holding the back of your head. His lips met and lazily moved against yours unhurriedly, savoring the sweet taste of your lips.

"You're too tired for this," you pulled away after a minute. "Do you wanna go to bed soon?"

"No, come back, please," he whined, drawing you back to him. It didn't matter if he was too sleepy. He wanted, no, needed your touch. "I wanna kiss you more, n-need it." Even though he was practically falling asleep and couldn't think coherently, there was still a longing for the tender touch of your lips on his. All he knows is that he needs you close to him right now in any way possible. The kisses you placed on his jawline and lips felt nothing less than euphoric, his breath hitching from your eyelashes fluttering against his skin, his sweet giggles filling the room from the ticklish sensation. He was enjoying himself greatly, really feeling like he needed this. In Sigma's mind, he felt like he was in heaven right now. You were such a breath of fresh air when you came into his life, so different from everyone else that only manipulated and used him for their own benefit. Not you.

Eventually, he had to pull away as the tiredness wearing him down washed over him entirely. His head fell on your chest as his eyelids drooped down from drowsiness, cradled in your arms with your chin resting on the top of his head, providing a warm oasis of comfort. Sigma didn't like to be so vulnerable and needy, usually putting your priorities above everything else. But in times like these, he preferred to be the little spoon and wanted to be taken care of, so you made sure to make that happen for him, taking delight in how he always fell asleep like a baby in your arms.

"I'm proud of you, Sigma," you murmured softly, kissing his hair.

That did it for him. Those simple yet affectionate words always worked wonders whenever he felt this way, your words and affection offering him the reassurance and contentment he couldn't find anywhere else.

"I feel better," he whispered, his voice barely audible, brimming with gratitude. "I want to keep making you proud." He managed to utter before falling into slumber with a slight smile on his face. Sigma was more than grateful to have you in his life, always looking forward to coming home to you at the end of the day, for you're his one and only safe haven.

[ghsttk]

who's your daddy?

Scenario: you didn't remember your father had such a daddy friend

Warnings: smut, daddykink, age gap, female reader, masturbation (reader), nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex, slightly degrading ("pathetic").

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: English is not my first language. I don't know what to say about this fic so... enjoy. Do I really need to say that the reader is of legal age?...

You were lying on your bed, scrolling on your phone, bored. With a sigh you turn off your phone and stare at the ceiling, contemplating your life. After a few minutes lost in thought, you hear two male voices downstairs, one from your father and the other from… another man. You don’t recognize who, but that was enough to drag you out of bed and leave your room, wearing an oversized t-shirt and loose denim shorts, since you spent the whole day at home.

The conversation between the two men was clearer when going downstairs, but that didn't mean it was interesting. Your father notices you, smiling proudly as he beckons you closer. “Here, look how much my daughter has grown!” Your father pats your back, showing you to the other man, who looks quite familiar. “Oh gosh,” The man grins, giving you a once-over before looking into your eyes. “You’re quite the woman now.” He nods.

Ignoring the blush on your cheeks, you tilt your head at him, trying to recognize him. He notices it, tilting his head just like you, smiling softly. “Come on now… Don’t you remember me, princess?” He steps closer, towering over you. You keep your eyes on his, fighting against the urge to lower your gaze to his mustache, it is so manly... “Well, I- wait…” You whisper the last part, eyes widening as the realization sinks. “Oh, Johnny!” You laugh softly, throwing your arms around his neck.

He stiffens momentarily but chuckles, wrapping his strong, big arms around your waist. “There is my girl.” He says in a low rumble, patting your lower back before leaning back to look at you. “You let your hair grow, you look different.” You comment, as if explaining why you didn't recognize him, while admiring his face. “Not in a bad way.” You decide to add, chuckling shyly. He grins charmingly, still holding your waist. “And you look all grown up, but I bet you’re still my little girl.” He kisses your forehead and releases you, he used to do it all the time when you were younger, but now it hits differently, you don't know why it makes your heart race.

You join their conversation, sitting on the couch next to Johnny. He places his hand on your knee, focused on your father, who doesn’t seem to notice the pull between you and his friend. You try to relax and don't feel so self-conscious, but it becomes more difficult when his hand tightens his grip, his thumb now caressing your skin. Although Johnny casually talks to your father, he keeps a smirk disguised as a grin, and you just can’t stop staring at him.

When your father excuses himself for a moment, Johnny looks at you. “How’s life treating you, princess?” He smiles, still caressing your knee. “Pretty well, I guess. How about you?” You place your hand over his, his eyes flickering down momentarily before looking at you again. “Better now.” He winks and you chuckle, starting to blush. You’re shamelessly enjoying his attention. He picks your hand, caressing your knuckles. “So, any boyfriends?” He asks directly, eyes on yours. “You told me not to date anyone until I was twenty-five.” You laugh softly and he looks down, chuckling. “Well, I did, didn’t I?” He grins.

-

After eating your father's lasagna, you head upstairs to the bathroom, leaving him and Johnny talking. It was already late, you just want to take a hot shower and relax. You undress and step under the shower, turning it on. Once the warm water hits your bare skin, you sigh in relief, nothing better than a nice shower after a long day. You slowly travel your hands from your hair, shoulders, collarbone, chest… Johnny's hands were on your mind, their warmth, weight, roughness…

You place your hands on your small breasts, caressing them before gently pinching the nipples, gasping softly right after. You lean against the wall, your left hand sliding down your stomach, fingers ghostly brushing on your skin, reaching between your legs. For a slight second, you even think about what you're doing, but you're so needy. You don't care if he's your father's best friend, if he took care of you years ago, or if he's twice your age — actually, the fact of him being so much older than you only arouses you further.

Your fingers brush against your sensitive bundle of nerves, hitching your breath. Your mouth opens in a soundless moan, fingers sliding further through the slick folds. You pinch your nipple again, using your free hand, and a small whimper escapes — but the shower is still on, so no one is hearing you, right?

You easily slide two fingers inside of you, the tips gently stroking your inner walls. You spread your legs a little more, starting to pump your fingers in and out, wishing they were Johnny's. It felt so good yet it wasn't enough, you needed more. You release a small moan. “Oh, Johnny-” “Yes?” You hear his husky voice next to you, making you freeze. You slowly turn to him, your face burning.

He was leaning against the closed door, shirtless, with his arms crossed. He tilts his head upwards, staring down at you. “I heard you calling…” He whispers. “Y-You did?” You cover your mouth, deadly embarrassed. He smirks, amused by your reaction. “Oh, sweetheart, you thought you were being quiet?” He chuckles. “...Do you want help with that?” He offers, mumbling, afraid of making you feel insulted or something.

You stare at him for a moment “Are you serious?”. He gulps and nods, holding his breath “But I won’t force you, ever-”. You interrupt him, opening the sliding glass shower door.

He quickly catches on, unzipping his jeans and hastily pulling them down along his underwear, kicking them off. Johnny joins you, his hands flying to hold your waist, kissing you hungrily without wasting a second. He brushes your soaked hair away from your face and holds your chin. “You’re so gorgeous, baby.” He praises, pressing you against the cold wall, a thigh between yours. “Tell me what you want, pretty girl, and daddy will give it to you.” He moves his knee up, slowly applying pressure on your neediness.

You gently scratch his shoulders, teasing him. “I want you, John” You plead in a whisper, using his knee to grind. “And what's the word?” He makes you look into his eyes, taking advantage of his bigger stature to tower over you. “Please, daddy” You choke out, receiving a kiss. “Good girl.” He nods and gently turns you around, pressing his chest on your back, your chest on the wall. You could feel his hardness brushing against your thigh, only increasing your arousal.

His hands slide down, cupping your rear, giving a strong squeeze. He explores your body, kissing your neck from behind while touching every inch of you. He grinds his length on your ass and you press your hips harder against his. “Please…” You ask again, getting impatient. “Hush now, okay?” He says firmly, giving another kiss on your neck, his hands moving to your chest. “You're such a tease,” He starts, his fingers teasing your nipples “Walking around without a bra, pressing these against me…” He squeezes your breasts “Did you think I wouldn't notice?” He whispers in your ear, making you whimper with his fingers pinching you. He nibs your earlobe and leans back again.

His left hand goes up, his index finger caresses your lips. You open your mouth to lick them gently, but Johnny shoves his two fingers in your mouth, almost making you gag. He chuckles darkly and, with his free hand, he caresses your needy folds, his fingers ghosting on your skin to tease you. “Suck my fingers, now.” He orders, stroking your clit mercilessly. You obey him, sucking his fingers like your life depends on it, drooling on them. John smirks, pleased by your submissiveness. His fingers, previously on your clit, move to your entrance. He strokes the hole teasingly, making you whimper on his fingers.

“Spread your legs, baby. Daddy's going to take you now.” He commands, not leaving room for discussion. You blindly obey, his hands on your sensitive flesh making you have frissons. You feel the tip of him nudging your dripping entrance, teasing before slowly pushing inside. You gasp, louder than you intended, feeling you getting stretched. “Shh, you're doing great.” He whispers, still sliding inside, you felt like his dick had no end, becoming even more surprised as his inches settled inside you. Once fully inside, he stops. “Tell me how it feels, princess.” he whispers. You involuntarily clench around him, trying to get used to his girth. Johnny moans “My, don't do that, you're already so tight..” He demands, starting to thrust. He grunts in your ear as he picks up the pace, holding your hips tightly, not even waiting long for you to get used to his size. You moan, your body jerking against the wall with the strength of his thrusts. “It feels good, doesn't it?” He smirks, leaning down to kiss your neck, and wrapping an arm around your waist.

His tip was meticulously hitting a special spot inside of you, making you melt. And as if that wasn't enough, his other hand is still between your legs, his fingertips brushing your clit. Plus his grunts in your ear, all result in you being a babbling, incoherent mess. “You look so pathetic, baby.” He chuckles menacingly. Johnny feels you're close by the way you're gripping his cock so tightly, and you could feel him throbbing inside. He removes his fingers from your mouth and moves to cover your lips, muffling your noises, before quickening the pace of his fingers on your clit. “Come, baby, come for daddy.” He whispers in your ear, his voice alone making your legs wobbly. You can't even hold it, falling apart on his dick, eyes watering. He stays inside for half a second before quickly pulling it out and releasing his orgasm on the floor, a few drops dripping on your legs. He pants softly and gently turns you to him, pulling you to his chest.

“Are you alright?” He kisses your forehead and caresses the apple of your eye. You nod against his chest, catching your breath. “You did a good job, princess, you've always been a good girl.” He strokes your damp hair, content.

taglist (thank you for the support!): @drugs-and-daddyissues

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[adnauseum11]

Mess Hall (John Price x Reader)

John explains his early departure from poker night to you.

1.8k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex (MDNI)

second part of the two-part scene

feedback welcome! writing smut is hard (lol) if anyone has any tips I'm grateful for them. Always looking to get better so don't be shy :)

Dinner was not edible, to John’s lasting amusement. The veggies cooked at disparate times, some too mushy and some practically raw. The pasta had been fine, John’s contribution solid as always. The flavour of the sauce had been the real star, if one didn’t mind the shrapnel you had introduced to it. Both of you had decided after half a bowl each that it was more work than it was worth. Your real dinner ended up being the world’s saddest charcuterie board, but John assured you he’d made do with worse. 

“Just happy to be eating.” He said, brushing off your concerns about him going hungry. 

“We could go to the pub.” You pick at the salami, perched on one foot tucked under you on a chair at the table.

“I just want to be with you, not up for the pub if that’s alright, love.” John’s honesty takes you by surprise, you glance at him but he seems otherwise content, building cheese and pickle onto a cracker.

“Yeah, of course that’s alright. You want to tell me what happened?” You ask carefully, not wanting to call back his bad mood but curious what brought him to your doorstep now that he seems a bit more even keeled. He stuffs the food into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, looking at you from under his lashes. It’s the most indecisive you’ve seen him in a long time and you wonder suddenly if you want to know at all. Then he sighs and pushes his plate away, seemingly deciding something.

“I was offered a contract. Walk on, ready to go.”

Your lungs freeze, and you forget how to breath for a moment. Your focus narrows onto the man beside you, who is closely watching for your reaction. The question must have been written across your face because he answers without it needing to be spoken aloud.

“I told them no, love.”

“Oh, thank god.” You say in a rush, your lungs sucking in a breath desperately. You can’t help the selfish sentiment, reflexive as blinking. Your hand lands on your chest as if trying to keep your heart contained. John watches you, a soft smugness pulling at his features. 

“Good to know you want me around, darling.” 

“I always want you around, John.” The bald truth is out before you can temper it with humour.

If anyone had told you a year ago that you would be dating your oldest friend and making heartfelt confessions in your kitchen over a crappy dinner, you would have thought them crazy. But here you are, a mere few months into this with your heart in your throat at the thought of him leaving for any length of time. What used to be routine seems devastating now.

“Is that…are you upset you said no?” You ask cautiously, breaking the intense eye contact to pick at your plate.

“What? No, they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Can’t play cards being badgered like that. They ought to know better.”

Relief that you aren’t the root cause of the bad mood floods through your system, making you bolder.

“You are incredibly stubborn. One ‘no’ should be enough.” You agree, earning yourself a dark look. You smile sweetly at him and reach across the expanse between your seats to cup his cheek, leaning in to his space to press a soft kiss to his frown. 

His big palm slides up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place when you would retreat. He deepens the kiss before you can move, his fingers sliding into your scalp with delicious pressure. When he finally releases you, instead of backing off you follow, slipping out of your seat and crawling onto John’s lap, his thick thighs spread wide. He accepts your weight without even blinking, shifting you into a more comfortable position before fisting his hand in your hair and kissing you again. The delectable rasp of his tongue against yours makes liquid heat pool in your lower belly. You’re suddenly desperate to feel his skin pressing against yours, your smaller hands grabbing at his sides and shoulders.

Your urgency seems to bleed into him, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and tugging it up your back, pausing only for you to lift your arms before he’s pulling it free from your body and throwing it on the floor. You mimic his actions, pushing his shirt up to reveal the thickness of his chest. He grabs the fabric and tugs and it joins a growing pile of clothing. The dark wiry hair of his body whispers against your delicate skin, sending lightning bolts of desire through you, eager to be pressed against his heat. 

Without any warning John is shoving the plates out of the way, the clanking tableware startling you out of your lust driven haze. Before you can speak, he’s lifted you, depositing you on the cleared space of the table with a gentle tinkle as glass knocks together. You look up at him wide-eyed but his intense blue eyes are darkened with desire and locked on your bra, his fingers moving faster than your brain can catch up. The look in his eyes and the cool air has your nipples pebbling, biting your bottom lip as he leans into your space and kisses you again. You have a vague notion of him throwing the piece of clothing, in the next heartbeat both of his hands are on you, urging you to recline backwards. 

John’s hot mouth trails over your collarbone and sternum as you recline, your fingers curling into his short sandy brown hair. The wet pull of his mouth on your nipple has you gasping, arching into him. His hands have dropped from your sides to your abdomen, flicking your jeans open with hurried movements. He pauses long enough to cup your mound, the heat of your body making him groan low in his throat. 

“Fuckin’ hell love” 

His voice has slipped down an octave, desire making his cheeks and chest flush under his dark hair. Your body has a pavlovian response to his, anticipation spiralling through your limbs. When his fingers curl in your jeans and panties, you lift up automatically, using his thighs to balance as he tugs the clothing free of your body. 

He’s back on you as soon as the clothing leaves his hand, fingers tracing up your calves and thighs, making room for himself between them while his mouth blazes a trail over your ribs to the delicate underside of your breast. His whiskers dragging across your skin make you gasp and twitch, the tableware clinking together by your head with each sudden movement. When the wet heat of his mouth closes over your nipple again you moan, fingers pressing into the back of John’s neck to keep him in place. You can feel the backs of his fingers grazing against your low belly as he’s undoing his pants, twisting and pulling something out of his back pocket.

“John, let me.” You try to sit up but he won’t allow it, rasping his teeth over your nipple, making you suck in a breath and squirm underneath him. He releases your flesh with an obscene ‘pop’ and a smug smile slides across his face. 

“Too late, next time.” His voice is a rumble, one hand fisted around the condom on the base of his hard cock and the other landing on your chest, keeping you pinned to the table and spread out for his viewing pleasure. The slow back and forth glide of the head of his cock over the seam of your pussy makes you groan and hook your heels into the back of John’s thighs. Your hands curl around his forearm, your nails biting into his flesh as he presses into you slowly, eyes locked on your face.

The heat of John’s palm on your sternum makes you aware of how fast your heart is beating against it. Your rattling moan spurs John on, the rocking thrusts of his hips making the dishes dance by your head. The obscene symphony sends shockwaves of sensation up and down your spine, making you squirm as you clutch at his arm.

John hisses a curse, followed by your name and you can feel the muscles of his arm fluttering under your grip. The world narrows to just the two of you, John rocking you and the contents of the table with his thrusts, gripping your hip to steady you under his body. You can feel your body start to pull taut, your orgasm building in pressure and a whine climbing the back of your throat as your senses start to overwhelm. 

John slides his hand off your chest to hunch over you, putting his full weight behind his thrusts. He drops close enough to run his open mouth over your collarbone, panting hot breath against your skin. The increased pressure and change in angle make you clench around him, wrenching a low moan from his chest. The tableware crashes in time with your movements.

“John, please.” You’re begging mindlessly, wrapping your thighs high on his hips, your legs trembling. 

“You make me crazy when you say my name like that.” John rumbles into your ear, giving you what you want and sliding his thumb over your clit in small circles. It only takes a handful more thrusts before you’re reaching your peak.

Your orgasm overtakes you and you claw at the back of his neck and shoulder with your nails, desperate to ground yourself. Your keening cry bounces off the walls of the kitchen as your body clamps down on his, bucking underneath him. The throbbing grip of your inner muscles is enough to drag John down with you, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he cums hard, his cock pulsing inside you. He groans deeply, his grip on your body bordering on bruising as you both slowly come down and try to regulate your breathing.

“Holy fuck John” You whimper, aftershocks making you tremble and grab at his arms as he leans back, easing out of your oversensitive flesh with a hiss. His palms are stroking over your body, cataloging the shape of you, soothing both of your nervous systems before stepping back. He disposes of the condom in the trash and is back between your legs, giving orders like he never left. 

“Legs around my waist darling. Good girl. Up we go.” He’s gathered you against his chest and is hefting you off the table before you can process. Your brain finally catches up and you clamp your thighs around his waist tighter, your arms slung around his neck, hanging off of him like a burr. You trust him implicitly, doing as you're told, your brain still too gooey to do its own processing.

John checks the lock on your front door before carrying you upstairs to your bedroom. Both of you are too exhausted to give a shit about the state of the kitchen at the moment, curling together in your smaller bed. You try not to focus too hard on how suspiciously tight your chest feels when he spoons you, face buried in your hair with a contented sigh. 

Next Chapter

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@deadbranch @beebeechaos @syoddeye @cadotoast

[masonmtxo]

Marley and Theo’s first time watching mase in a game at old Trafford and afterwards they come down onto the pitch and are so excited to see mase

Okay so I dont have the brain capacity for full fics at the moment but have another mini drabble! For the timeline of my fics Marley was born feb 2024 and Theo in 2027 so this is a little out of sync with that.

•••

You watched as your 3 year old daughter squirmed with excitement, pointing towards the pitch with little squeals of “daddy!” everytime Mason made contact with the ball. She was kited out in her first ever united kit, ‘Daddy’ and the number 7 printed across her back, a sight which you weren’t quite used to yet, a lump still rising in your throat when you thought back the turmoil of the past few months. You weren’t completely settled in Manchester yet, but you were on your way. The knowledge that Mason was finally content with his move, Marley was already making new friends with the other kids who’s dads played for united and Theo at only 6 months was non the wiser made it easier. You still hadn’t bought a family home, you desperately missed your friends and relatives down south, but as you watched your boyfriend do what he loved with his baby girl excitedly cheering him on, all your worries washed away in an instant.

“Only a few more minutes,” Anouska nudged you with a grin, “if they can hang on that long…”

The game had been nerve wracking, the teams constantly levelling within minutes of the other breaking ahead. United had finally gone one up, but it hadn’t stopped any of the home fans from sitting at the edge of their seats, the noise almost deafening. Marley and Reign were dancing around in front of your legs, neither of them entirely sure what was going on but the screams in the stadium had them bouncing on their toes, yelling for their respective dads.

When the whistle finally blew and cheers erupted from the stands, you finally felt like you could breathe again, swiftly taking your daughters hand in yours as you shuffled Theo comfortably onto your hip, following Anouska out the back of the box Mason and Luke shared and down onto the pitch where the boys were waiting. It was United’s first home win of the season, the atmosphere electric, the players all pumped with adrenaline as their families joined them pitch side.

The second Marley caught sight of Mason’s figure she was off, releasing her grip in your hand and darting towards him as quick as her little legs would take her.

“Daddy!”

He turned at the sound of her voice, face lighting up as she thundered towards him, crouching to the ground and bundling her into his arms. You smiled as you watched them interact, kisses being pressed to every inch of Marley’s face that Mason could reach as she held herself as close to him as she could get.

Theo babbled on your hip, drawing your attention away from them, “do you wanna see your daddy too huh?” You cooed, “c’mon then little man.”

The smile on Mason’s face made your heart clench, the relief of knowing he was finally happy after months of turmoil and stress was enough to make every other little problem in life seem insignificant. His eyes gravitated to yours, an arm reaching out to grab you as you approached and draw you both in to the other-side of his damp, sweaty chest. But none of you complained as you snuggled into him, words of praise and love being whispered among you, little tears springing in your eyes with contentment at your little family.

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